She disliked speaking, her power over her words seemed so utterly
gone. She used quite different expressions to those she intended.
So she kept silent, while Mrs. Sturgis (for that was the name of her
hostess) talked away, and put her tea-things by, and moved about
incessantly, in a manner that increased the dizziness in Mary's
head. She felt as if she ought to take leave for the night and go.
But where?
Presently the old man came back, crosser and gruffer than when he
went away. He kicked aside the dry shoes his wife had prepared for
him, and snarled at all she said. Mary attributed this to his
finding her still there, and gathered up her strength for an effort
to leave the house. But she was mistaken. By-and-by, he said
(looking right into the fire, as if addressing it), "Wind's right
against them!"
"Ay, ay, and is it so?" said his wife, who, knowing him well, knew
that his surliness proceeded from some repressed sympathy.
"Well-a-well, wind changes often at night. Time enough before
morning. I'd bet a penny it has changed sin' thou looked.
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