I've done nothing, I'm sure."
"Did you say that I'd said that I didn't want to see him again?"
Grace shrank back behind the tea-things.
"Yes, I did . . . Maggie, you frighten me."
"I hope I do . . . You're wicked, you're wicked. Yes, you are. Where
is he now?"
"He's at the 'Sea Dog.' That dirty public house on the sea-front--
near Tunstalls--Where are you going?"
"I'm going to him of course." Maggie turned and looked at Grace.
Grace was fascinated as a rabbit is by a snake. The two women stared
at one another.
"How strange you are, Grace," Maggie said. "You seem to like to be
cruel!" Then she went out. When the door was closed Grace found
"that she was all in a perspiration." Her hand trembled so that when
she tried to pour herself another cup of tea--just to fortify
herself--she poured it into the saucer. And the tea was cold--no use
now.
When she rose at last to go in and seek consolation from Paul her
knees were trembling so that she staggered across the floor. This
couldn't go on. No, it could not. To be frightened in one's own
house! Absurd . . . Really the girl had looked terrible .
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