There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess.
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