"Oh, come," said Ally, "how's Papa?"
"Much the same except that he drove into Morfe yesterday to see
Molly."
"Yes, darling, of course you may."
Ally was abstracted, for Gwenny had slipped from her chair and was whispering in her ear.
It never occurred to Ally to ask what Gwenda had been doing, or what she had been thinking of, or what she felt, or to listen to anything she had to say.
Her sister might just as well not have existed for all the interest Ally showed in her. She hadn't really forgotten what Gwenda had done for her, but she couldn't go on thinking about it forever. It was the sort of thing that wasn't easy or agreeable to think about and Ally's instinct of self-preservation urged her to turn from it. She tended to forget it, as she tended to forget all dreadful things, such as her own terrors and her father's illness and the noises Greatorex made when he was eating.
Gwenda was used to this apathy of Ally's and it had never hurt her till to-day. To-day she wanted something from Ally. She didn't know what it was exactly, but it was something Ally hadn't got.
She only said, "Have you seen the thorn-trees on Greffington Edge?"
And Ally never answered. She was heading off a stream of jam that was creeping down Stevey's chin to plunge into his neck.
"Gwenda's aasskin' yo 'ave yo seen t' thorn-trees on Greffington
Edge," said Greatorex. He spoke to Ally as if she were deaf.