On her way to Martin that morning the figure of Aunt Anne haunted
her. She felt for a brief moment that she would do anything, yes,
even surrender Martin, to ease her aunt's pain. And then she knew
that she would not, and she called herself cruel and selfish and
felt for an instant a dark shadow threatening her because she was
so. But when she saw Martin outside Hatchard's she forgot it all. It
was a strange thing that during those weeks they neither of them
asked any questions about their home affairs. It was as though they
both inwardly realised that there was trouble for them of every kind
waiting outside and that they could only definitely realise their
happiness by building a wall around themselves. They knew perhaps in
their secret hearts, or at any rate Martin knew, that they could not
hold their castle for long. But is not the gift of three perfect
weeks a great thing for any human being to be given--and who has the
temerity, the challenging audacity, to ask with confidence for even
so much?
On this particular morning Martin said to her:
"Before we get into the 'bus, Maggie, you've got to come into a shop
with me.
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