She had suffered badly during the period of poverty. Nothing, however,
could shake the curious sullen, animal pride that dominated each member
of the family. Now, for Mabel, the end had come. Still she would not cast
about her. She would follow her own way just the same. She would always
hold the keys of her own situation. Mindless and persistent, she endured
from day to day. Why should she think? Why should she answer anybody? It
was enough that this was the end, and there was no way out. She need not
pass any more darkly along the main street of the small town, avoiding
every eye. She need not demean herself any more, going into the shops and
buying the cheapest food. This was at an end. She thought of nobody, not
even of herself. Mindless and persistent, she seemed in a sort of ecstasy
to be coming nearer to her fulfilment, her own glorification, approaching
her dead mother, who was glorified.
In the afternoon she took a little bag, with shears and sponge and a
small scrubbing brush, and went out. It was a grey, wintry day, with
saddened, dark-green fields and an atmosphere blackened by the smoke of
foundries not far off. She went quickly, darkly along the causeway,
heeding nobody, through the town to the churchyard.
There she always felt secure, as if no one could see her, although as a
matter of fact she was exposed to the stare of everyone who passed along
under the churchyard wall.
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