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298 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1935
In spite of her many responsibilities at this time, Sophia was happy.
Her situation did not include many of the things which make most human beings happy, for she was poor, she was not in love and had no one in love with her, she was not pretty nor admired, she was usually exhausted from overwork and felt vaguely ill from the pressure of her own nervous energies, lingering grief for her mother, and from the deeply rooted misery which had struck into her nature during her childhood.
Nevertheless she enjoyed almost every moment of her day. She had learned, at an early age, to ignore the protests made by a tired body; this is a valuable lesson, which often serves to develop the senses of hearing, smell and taste, and to make them vivid, and obedient to the demands of her intelligence. As for her eyes - what delight they gave her! ravaging a room, a face, a landscape like buccaneers, and sending back to her brain great loads of loot.
A period of happiness and apparent prosperity now set in for the inhabitants of the cottage. It may be compared to that burst of radiant hot weather which precedes a thunderstorm.
Yet one could not ignore the misery on the earth; the North of England in the frost of industrial decline, violence and starvation in Europe, America staggering like a wounded golden giant.
So many things bewildered Uncle Preston, who suffered from a permanent sense of grievance because events and persons would not fit into the frame through which he looked at life.
She sipped her team, took a bite of bread and butter, smelled the narcissus, turned a page, listened to the stillness, gratifying as many of her senses as possible at the same time.