I don't believe she's religious
really either."
She knew nothing of this. She did not notice that she was not asked
often to other houses. People were kind (the Skeaton people were
neither malicious nor cruel) but left her more and more alone. She
said to herself again and again: "I must make this a success--I
must"--but the words were becoming mechanical. It was like tramping
a treadmill: she got no further, only became more and more
exhausted. That spring and summer people noticed her white face and
strange eyes. "Oh, she's a queer girl," they said.
The summer was very hot with a little wind that blew the sand
everywhere. Strange how that sand succeeded in penetrating into the
very depth of the town. The sand lay upon the pavement of the High
Street so that your feet gritted as you walked. The woods and houses
lay for nearly two months beneath a blazing sun. There was scarcely
any rain. The little garden behind the Rectory was parched and
brown; the laurel bushes were grey with dust. They saw very few
people that summer; many of their friends had escaped.
Maggie, thinking of the green depths of Harben a year ago, longed
for its coolness; nevertheless she was happy to think that she would
never have to see Harben again.
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