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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

On Tuesday morning she told Mary that
they would turn the master's absence to good account by giving the
house an unseasonal but complete spring cleaning, and ever since then
they had both been hard at work.
The work gave exercise as well as occupation; it furnished a ready
excuse for declining to go over and see Mrs. Petherick or to allow a
visit from her; and, moreover, it had a satisfactory calming effect on
one's nerves. While Mavis was reviewing pots and pans, standing on the
high step-ladder to unhook muslin curtains, and, most of all, while
she was going through her husband's winter underclothes in search of
moths, it seemed to her that she was not only retaining but
strengthening her hold on all these inanimate friends, and that they
themselves were eloquently though dumbly protesting against the mere
idea of forcible separation. When she sat down, hot and tired, in the
midst of shrouded masses of furniture, to enjoy a picnic meal that
Mary had set out on the one unoccupied corner of a crowded table, she
was able to eat with hearty appetite; and yet, no matter how tired she
might be by the end of the day, she could not sleep properly at
night.
If she slept, a dream of trouble woke her. As she lay awake her
trouble sometimes seemed greater than ever.


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