(15)lessly togehtther) in idiot games until it seemed as if theuniverse were battling and tumbling, in burute confusion andwanton lust aimlessly by itself.

In spring the garden urns casually filled with wind blownplants were gay as ever. Violets came and daffodils. Butthe stillness and the brightness of the day were as strange asthe chaos and tumult of night, with the trees standing there,and the flowers standing there, looking before them, lookingup, yet beholding nothing, eyeless, and so terrible.VII

Thinking no harm, for the family would not come, neveragain, some said, and the house would be sold at Michaelmasperhaps, Mrs. McNab stooped and picked a bunch of flowers totake home with her. She laid them on the table while shedusted. She was fond of flowers. It was a pity to let themwaste. Suppose the house was sold (she stood arms akimbo infront of the looking glass) it would want seeing to - it would.There it had stood all these years without a sould in it. Thebooks and things were mouldy, for what with the war and helpbeing hard to get, the house had not been cleaned as she couldhave wished. It was beyond one person's strength to get itstraight now. She was too old. Her legs pained her. Allthose books needed to be laid out on the grass in the sun;there was plaster fallen in the hall; the rain pipe had blockedover the study window and let the water in; the carpet was
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