Chapter 43

It seemed so strange. She was using the same phrases as her Aunt Fanteague used. Yet here they echoed hollowly. It seemed even to her untrained imagination that these people were outside the ordinary give and take of life. Rwth drank her tea as if it were a witch-broth. Fringal ate his bread-and-butter as if he were a shipwrecked mariner with his last biscuit. Elmer simply stared at her, wondered at her, drank nothing, ate nothing, but sent Rwth into the kitchen four times for different things he imagined Gillian m…