So long as she could dress
in the best, while she could ride where others walked, so long as she
betrayed no limitation of resources, the doors stood wide. Not what
you are, but what you've got--she remembered Bill saying that was their
holiest creed.
It repelled her. And sometimes she was tempted to sit down and pour it
all out in a letter to him. But she could not quite bring herself to
the point. Always behind Bill loomed the vast and dreary Northland,
and she shrank from that.
On top of this, she began to suffer a queer upset of her physical
condition. All her life she had been splendidly healthy; her body a
perfect-working machine, afflicted with no weaknesses. Now odd
spasmodic pains recurred without rhyme or reason in her head, her back,
her limbs, striking her with sudden poignancy, disappearing as suddenly.
She was stretched on the lounge one afternoon wrestling nervously with
a particularly acute attack, when Vesta Lorimer was ushered in.
"You're almost a stranger," Hazel remarked, after the first greetings.
"Your outing must have been pleasant, to hold you so long."
"It would have held me longer," Vesta returned, "if I didn't have to be
in touch with my market.
Pages:
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386