CHAPTER VIIIShe was very glad to get up to her own room… She was tired, she was unhappy; that indefinable and leaden oppression still lay upon her. Bad enough things had happened already, but she felt that worse was coming.
Part of this heavy dread was pure superstition, and she knew it. But part of it was logic and common sense. Things had to happen as a result of the poor little bald man’s death. Things had to happen as a result of Mrs. Barley’s strange relapse. And more things had to happen to Cecily.
I like that girl, she thought, lying relaxed in a hot bath. I dare say she’s a fool, but that’s the kind of fool I like. She’s not a muddled, panic-stricken fool. She’s a definite, vigorous, crashing sort of fool. What she’s doing is probably a disastrous mistake, but at least she’s doin
