She
hated her now with terror that was partly fear for her own safety,
partly love and jealousy for Paul, partly outraged modesty and
tradition, partly sheer panic.
She had, as yet, said very little to Paul. She waited the right
moment. Maggie's absence showed her how deep and devastating this
fear had been. She saw that it embraced the whole life of Paul and
herself in Skeaton. She had grown fond of Skeaton; she was a woman
who would inevitably care for anything when she had become
thoroughly accustomed to its ways and was assured that it would do
her no harm.
She liked the shops and the woods, the sand and the sea. Above all,
she adored the Church. During a large part of every day she was
there, pottering about, talking to the caretaker, poking her nose
into the hymn-books to see whether the choir-boys had drawn pictures
in them, rubbing the brasses, making tidy the vestry. The house too
she loved, and the garden and the bottles on the wall. She might
have known that she was not popular in the place, she cannot have
failed to realise that she had no woman friend and that she was
seldom invited to dinner.
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