She did not speak for some time, and when she did, her words seemed to have no direct reference to Valeria’s question.
“I believe that there are thousands and thousands of women whose lives have run on parallel lines with mine.”
She recalled a strange and grotesque vision, or waking-dream, that she had dreamt a few nights before: of a vast abyss, black and silent, which had to be filled up to the top with the bodies of women, hurled down to the depths of the pit of darkness, in order that the survivors might, at last, walk over in safety. Human bodies take but little room, and the abyss seemed to swallow them, as some greedy animal its prey. But Hadria knew, in her dream, that some day it would have claimed its last victim, and the surface would be level and solid, so that people would come and go, scarcely remembering that beneath their feet was once a chasm into which throbbing lives had to descend, to darkness and a living death.
Valeria looked anxious and ill at ease. She watched Hadria’s face.
She was longing to urge her to leave Craddock Dene, but was deterred by the knowledge of the uselessness of such advice. Hadria could not take it.
“I chafe against these situations!” cried Valeria. “I am so unused, in my own life, to such tethers and limitations. They would drive me crazy!”
“Oh,” Hadria exclaimed, with an amused smile, “this is a new cry!”
“I don’t care,” said Valeria discontentedly. “I never supposed that one could be tied hand and foot, in this way. I should never stand it. It is intolerable!”
“These are what you have frequently commended to me as ‘home ties,’” said Hadria.
“Oh, but it is impossible!”