Chapter 8

           MrsBoltonalsokeptacherishingeyeonConnie,feelingshemustextendtoherherfemaleandprofessionalprotection.Shewasalwaysurgingherladyshiptowalkout,todrivetoUthwaite,tobeintheair.ForConniehadgotintothehabitofsittingstillbythefire,pretendingtoread;ortosewfeebly,andhardlygoingoutatall.

           ItwasablowydaysoonafterHildahadgone,thatMrsBoltonsaid:’Nowwhydon’tyougoforawalkthroughthewood,andlookatthedaffsbehindthekeeper’scottage?They’retheprettiestsightyou’dseeinaday’smarch.Andyoucouldputsomeinyourroom;wilddaffsarealwayssocheerful-looking,aren’tthey?’

           Connietookitingoodpart,evendaffsfordaffodils.Wilddaffodils!Afterall,onecouldnotstewinone’sownjuice.Thespringcameback...’Seasonsreturn,butnottomereturnsDay,orthesweetapproachofEv’norMorn.’

           Andthekeeper,histhin,whitebody,likealonelypistilofaninvisibleflower!Shehadforgottenhiminherunspeakabledepression.Butnowsomethingroused...’Palebeyondporchandportal’...thethingtodowastopasstheporchesandtheportals.

           Shewasstronger,shecouldwalkbetter,andinthewoodthewindwouldnotbesotiringasitwasacrossthepark,flatteningagainsther.Shewantedtoforget,toforgettheworld,andallthedreadful,carrion-bodiedpeople.’Yemustbebornagain!Ibelieveintheresurrectionofthebody!Exceptagrainofwheatfallintotheearthanddie,itshallbynomeansbringforth.