er t lemans labour, receiving leman in cuffs. damn porter? o sickets, I wonder?
At last a boy appears to fetcake our bags. e stand on tation platform and study they shine, as if polished.
In time to purr, and tly, like nerves in failing teeto rain comes ling about track, a plume of smoke at its s many doors unfolding. I keep my veil about my face. Rico to it, per my quite private, till London? takes han ever.
t I must pay a man to t cely, tle virgin of a me tell you noe account of ts of to c your share.
I say notrain en o roll upon its tracks. I feel t, and grip trap of leatil my ers in its glove.
So t seems to me t cross vast distances of space.—For you and t my sense of distance and space is ratrange. e stop at a village of red-bricked anot a t every station t seems to me a press of people clamouring to board, train—perurn it.
I to be crusrain; and almost hey do.
t. treets and treets and spires t seen; more eady traffic of cattle and ve. But Ricudies me as I gaze, and smiles unpleasantly. Your natural op at tation and I see t: MAIDENhEAD.
tly y miles, and y to go. I sit, still gripping trap, leaning close to t tation is filled he men idly walking; and from
train gives a s bulk, and so terrible life. e leave treets of Maidenrees. Beyond trees t as my uncles, some greater. tages icks for climbing beans, and rees, on buss of broken carts—laundry everywhere, drooping and yellow.
I keep my pose and c all. Look, Maud, I ture. y, unfolding like a bolt of cloth . . .
I hey have her in, now.
Ricries to see beyond my veil. Youre not rouble over it still.
I say, Dont look at me.
S Briar, . You kno, soon, t it. Believe me, I kno only be patient. e must botient noogetune becomes ours. I am sorry I spoke London, soon. t to you t;
I do not ans last, up. to ty. treaks of soot upon ttages o be replaced by o patco ditcco dark canals, to dreary es of road, to mounds of s