She had still touched very little of her own three hundred pounds.
He should have as much of that as he liked. The death of Aunt Anne
had shown her how few people in the world there were for her to
love. After all, the aunts and Uncle Mathew had needed her as no one
else had done. She made little plans; she would, perhaps, go back
with him to London for a little time. There was, after all, no
reason why she should remain in this horrible place for ever. And
Paul now seemed not to care whether she went or stayed.
She ran out into the wind and the rain. She was surprised by the
force and fury of it. It would take time and strength to battle down
the High Street. Poor Uncle Mathew! To walk all the way in the rain
and then to be told that she would not see him! She could imagine
him turning away down the drive, bitterly disappointed . . .
Probably he had come to borrow money, and she had promised that she
would not fail him. When she reached the High Street she was soaked.
She felt the water dripping down her neck and in her boots. At the
corner of the High Street by the bookseller's she was forced to
pause, so fiercely did the wind beat up from the Otterson Road, that
runs openly to the sea.
Pages:
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778