. “It spreads like wildfire. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. Nor Jacques. Always. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous.
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