Between those two events ran the history of more than two years, and
there was nothing stranger than the way that the scene in the garden
and the scene in the study seemed to Maggie to be close together.
What were the steps, she used to ask herself afterwards, that led to
those last months of fury and tragedy and disaster? Was it my fault?
Was it hers? Was it Paul's? What happened? If I had not done this or
that, if Grace had not said--no, it was hopeless. She would break
off in despair. Isolated scenes appeared before her, always bound,
on either side, by that prologue and that finale, but the scenes
would not form a chain. She could not connect; she would remain
until the end bewildered as to Grace's motives. She never, until the
day of her death, was to understand Grace.
"She was angry for such little things," she said afterwards.
"She hated me to be myself." The two years in retrospect seemed to
have passed with incredible swiftness, the months that followed them
were heavy and slow with trouble. But from the very first, that is,
from the moment when Grace saw Paul kiss Maggie in the evening
garden, battle was declared.
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