There would be a fight. As she looked around the
gradually darkening room she realised that. It might be a long fight
and a difficult one, but that she would win she had no doubt. It had
been preordained that she should win. No one on this earth or above
it could beat her.
Gradually she became more practical. Slowly she formed her plans.
First, what had Martin done? Perhaps he had told the woman of the
house that she, Maggie, was to be turned out, did she not, of
herself, go away. No, Martin would not do that. Maggie knew quite
confidently that he would never allow any one to insult her. Perhaps
Martin would not come back at all. Perhaps his hat and his coat were
his only possessions. That was a terrible thought! Had he gone,
leaving no trace, how would she ever find him again? She remembered
then that he had gone straight downstairs and out of the house. He
had not spoken to the landlady. That did not look like a permanent
departure. But she would make certain.
She pushed open the other door and peeped into the further room. She
saw a dirty unmade bed, a tin washhand stand, and an open carpet-bag
filled with soiled linen.
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