She felt happier then. She could face them all. She had been bad to
her aunts, too. She had done them harm, and they had been nothing
but goodness to her. Apart from leaving Martin she would do all,
these next weeks, to please them.
She went up to her bedroom, and when she reached it she realised,
with a little pang of fright, that she was a prisoner. No more
meetings outside Hatchards, no more teas, no more walks . . . She
looked out of the window down into the street. It was a long way
down and the figures walking were puppets, not human at all. But the
thing to be thought of now was the question of letters. How was she
to get them to the Strand Office and receive from them Martin's
letters in return? After long, anxious thought there seemed to be
only one way. There was a kitchen-maid, Jane, who came every morning
to the house, did odd jobs in the kitchen, and went home again in
the evening. Maggie had seen the girl about the house a number of
times, had noticed her for her rebellious, independent look, and had
felt some sympathy with her because she was under the harsh dominion
of Martha.
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