Only one look, one word of assurance from him, and then
she could endure anything. That she must have or she would die.
At last Martha knocked on the door; she had her bath, dressed, still
with this terrible pain at her heart.
She was alone at breakfast, she drank some coffee, then went up to
the drawing-room to think for a moment what course she should
pursue. The room was flooded with sunlight that struck the fire into
a dead, lifeless yellow.
As she stood there she heard through the open door voices in the
hall. But before she had heard the voices she knew that it was
Martin.
Martha was expostulating, her voice following his step up the hall.
"I shall go and tell my mistress," Maggie heard.
Then Martin came in.
When she saw him she stood speechless where she was. The change in
him terrified her so that her heart seemed to leap into her throat
choking her. The colour had drained from his face, leaving it dry
and yellow. He had an amazing resemblance to his father, his eyes
had exactly the same bewildered expression as though he were lost
and yet he seemed quite calm, his only movement was one hand that
wandered up and down his waistcoat feeling the buttons one after the
other.
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