Nevertheless, she liked her
kindness. She was so strangely driven. She wished to think of Martin
always, never to forget him, but at the same time not to think of
the life that was connected with him. She must never think of him as
some one who might return. Did that once begin all this present life
would be impossible--and she meant to make this new existence not
only possible but successful. Therefore she was building, so hard as
she could, this new house; the walls were rising, the rooms were
prepared, every window was barred, the doors were locked, no one
from outside should enter, and everything that belonged to it--Paul,
Grace, the Church, these women, Skeaton itself, her household
duties, the servants, everything and every one was pressed into
service. She must have so much to do that she could not think, she
must like every one else so much that she could not want any one
else--that other world must be kept out, no sound nor sight of it
must enter . . . If even she could forget Martin. What had he said
to her. "Promise me whatever I am, whatever I do, you will love me
always"--and she had promised.
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