’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. .
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