I remembered her
injury, and by way of something to say, I enquired after it. She thanked
me; it was entirely healed now, but it might have been much worse; and
there was something about the "mercy of the Lord" that I didn't quite
catch. While telephoning, however--London call, and my attention focused
on it--realized sharply that this was the first time I had spoken with
her; also, that I had--touched her.
It happened to be a Sunday, and the lines were clear. I got my
connection quickly, and the incident was forgotten while my thoughts
went up to London. On my way upstairs, then, the woman came back into my
mind, so that I recalled other things about her--how she seemed all over
the house, in unlikely places often; how I had caught her sitting in the
hall alone that night; how she was forever coming and going with her
lugubrious visage and that untidy hair at the back that had made me
laugh three years ago with the idea that it looked singed or burnt; and
how the impression on my first arrival at The Towers was that this woman
somehow kept alive, though its evidence was outwardly suppressed, the
influence of her late employer and of his somber teachings. Somewhere
with her was associated the idea of punishment, vindictiveness, revenge.
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