'Poor old things.' Just fancy!
Why, Mary Beats is very little older than I. You'll have to put your
foot down about it, you will, indeed, Paul. Yes, you will. Give
Linda Maxse an inch and she takes a mile, I always said--and this is
just the kind of thing . . ."
So happily Grace ran on and Paul looked up from his desk at her,
digging his fingers into his white hair, smiling at her in just the
old confidential way that he used to have before Maggie came.
She revived, too, her old habit of talking to herself. This had
always been an immense relief to her--it had helped her to feel
reassurance. Lately she had felt that Maggie was overhearing her and
was laughing at her; this had checked her and made her suspicious.
Now as she began to mount the stairs she would murmur to herself:
"It might be better to tell Jenny to go to Bartletts. After all,
it's quicker that way, and she'll be able to tell the boy to bring
the things back. She needn't wait. All the same she's stupid, she'll
make a muddle of it as likely as not. And Womball's boy is livelier
than Bartletts'. That's something after all. But if she goes out at
two-thirty she'll never be back by four--unless she went by Smith's
lane of course--she might do that .
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