But she fled along the grey road and up the stairs to her room. Margaret
was in bed, and awakening a little asked her what had kept her out so
late. She did not answer... and hearing Margaret fall asleep she
remembered the supper-table. Sarah, who had come in late, had sat down by
her; William sat on the opposite side; Mrs. Latch was in her place, the
jockeys were all together; Mr. Swindles, his snuff-box on the table;
Margaret and Grover. Everyone had drunk a great deal; and Mr. Leopold had
gone to the beer cellar many times. She thought that she remembered
feeling a little dizzy when William asked her to come for a stroll up the
hill. They had passed through the hunting gate; they had wandered into the
loneliness of the hills. Over the folded sheep the rooks came home noisily
through a deepening sky. So far she remembered, and she could not remember
further; and all night lay staring into the darkness, and when Margaret
called her in the morning she was pale and deathlike.
"Whatever is the matter? You do look ill."
"I did not sleep all last night. My head aches as if it would drop off. I
don't feel as if I could go to work to-day."
"That's the worst of being a servant. Well or ill, it makes no matter."
She turned from the glass, and holding her hair in her left hand, leaned
her head so that she might pin it.
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