"Were you jilted?"
"Yes. She thought it would make me humble. I always was. I am. I'm afraid of my self now. I can't trust it. I keep on asking people what they think when I ought to know…. But I'm going to stop all that. I'm going to fight."
"Fight little Mamma?"
"No. Myself. The bit of me that claws on to her and can't get away. My body'll stay here and take care of her all her life, but my self will have got away. It'll get away from all of them. It's got bits of them sticking to it, bits of Mamma, bits of Papa, bits of Roddy, bits of Aunt Charlotte. Bits of you, Mark. I don't want to get away from you, but I shall have to. You'd kick me down and stamp on me if you thought it would please Mamma. There mayn't be much left when I'm done, but at least it'll be me."
"Mad. Quite mad, Minx. You ought to be married."
"And leave little Mamma? … I'll race you from the bridge to the top of the hill."
He raced her. He wasn't really angry. Deep down inside him he knew.
VII.
November, and Mark's last morning. He had got promotion. He was going back to India with a new battery. He would be stationed at Poona, a place he hated. Nothing ever happened as he wanted it to happen.
She was in Papa's room, helping him to pack. The wardrobe door gave out its squeaking wail again and again as he opened it and threw his things on to the bed. Her mother had gone away because she couldn't bear to see them, his poor things.