"Am I like that?" was her own instinctive shuddering thought. Then,
almost running, she rushed up to her bedroom.
CHAPTER VII
DEATH OF AUNT ANNE
Maggie, after that flight, faced her empty room with a sense of
horror. Was there, truly, then, something awful about her? The child
(for she was indeed nothing more) looked into her glass, standing on
tip-toe that she might peer sufficiently and saw her face, pale,
with its large dark eyes rimmed by the close-clipped hair. Was she
then awful? First her father, then her aunts, then the Warlocks, now
Grace and Paul--not only dislike but fright, terror, alarm!
Her loneliness crushed her in that half-hour as it had never crushed
her since that day at Borhedden. She broke down altogether, kneeling
by the bed and her head in her pillow sobbing: "Oh, Martin, I want
you! Martin, I want you so!"
When she was calmer she thought of going down to Paul and making
another appeal to him, but she knew that such an appeal could only
end in his asking her to change herself, begging her to be more
polite to Grace, more careful and less forgetful, and of course
to give up such people as the Toms and Caroline, and then there
would come, after it all, the question as to whether she intended
to behave better to himself, whether she would be more loving, more
.
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