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THE WINDOWMinta marry Paul Rayley; because whatever she mightfeel about her own transaction and she had had ex-periences which need not happen to everyone (she didnot name them to herself), she was driven on, tooquickly she knew, almost as if it were an escape forher too, to say that people must marry; people musthave children.

Was she wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewingher conduct for the past week or two, and wonderingif she had indeed put any pressure upon Minta, whowas only twenty-four, to make up her mind. She wasuneasy. Had she not laughed about it? Was she notforgetting again how strongly she influenced people?Marriage needed — oh all sorts of qualities (the billfor the greenhouse would be fifty pounds); one — sheneed not name it — that was essential; the thing shehad with her husband. Had they that?

‘Then he put on his trousers and ran away like amadman,’ she read. ‘But outside a great storm wasraging and blowing so hard that he could scarcelykeep his feet; houses and trees toppled over, the moun-tains trembled, rocks rolled into the sea, the sky waspitch black, and it thundered and lightened, and thesea came in with black waves as high as church towersand mountains, and all with white foam at the top.’

She turned the page; there were only a few linesmore, so that she would finish the story, though itwas past bed—time. It was getting late. The light inthe garden told her that; and the whitening of theflowers and something grey in the leaves conspiredtogether to rouse in her a feeling of anxiety. What itwas about she could not think at first. Then she remem-bered; Paul and Minta and Andrew had not come73