" And, worn out by the worry and excitement she
had gone through, and afraid, in advance, of what she had still to face,
Mary began to cry.
Mahony stood still; let her arm drop. "Do you mean me to understand," he
demanded, as if unable to believe his ears: "to understand that
Purdy. . . dared to. . . that he dared to behave to you in any but a--"
And since Mary was using her pocket-handkerchief and could not reply:
"Good God! Has the fellow taken leave of his senses? Is he mad? Was he
drunk? Answer me! What does it all mean?" And Mary still continuing
silent, he threw off the hand she had replaced on his arm. "Then you must
walk home alone. I'm going back to get at the truth of this."
But Mary clung to him. "No, no, you must hear the whole story first."
Anything rather than let him return to the hall. Yes, at first she
thought he really had gone mad. "I can't tell you what I felt,
Richard . . . knowing it was Purdy--just Purdy. To see him like
that--looking so horrible--and to have to listen to the dreadful things he
said! Yes, I'm sure he had had too too much to drink. His breath smelt
so." She had tried to pull away her hands; but he had held her, had put
his arms round her.
At the anger she felt racing through her husband she tightened her grip,
stringing meanwhile phrase to phrase with the sole idea of getting him
safely indoors. Not till they were shut in the bedroom did she give the
most humiliating detail of any: how, while she was still struggling to
free herself from Purdy's embrace, the door had opened and Mr.
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