"
"You needn't. I like it best as it is."
"Do yo? D'yo mind thot Soonda yo caame laasst year? Yo've aassked mae
whan it was I started thinkin' of yo. It was than. Thot daay whan yo
sot there in thot chair by t' fire, taalkin' t' mae and drinkin' yore
tae so pretty."
She drew closer to him.
"Did you really love me then?"
"Ay--I looved yo than."
She pondered it.
"Jim--what would you have done if I hadn't loved you?"
He choked back something in his throat before he answered her. "What
sud I have doon? I sud have goan on looving yo joost the saame.
"We'll goa oopstairs now."
He took her back and out through the kitchen and up the stone stairs
that turned sharply in their narrow place in the wall. He opened the
door at the head of the landing.
"This would bae our room. 'Tis t' best."
He took her into the room where John Greatorex had died. It was the
marriage chamber, the birth-chamber, and the death-chamber of all the
Greatorexes. The low ceiling still bulged above the big double bed
John Greatorex had died in.
The room was tidy and spotlessly clean. The walls had been
whitewashed. Fresh dimity curtains hung at the window. The bed was
made, a clean white counterpane was spread on it.
The death room had been made ready for the living. The death-bed
waited for the bride.
Ally stood there, under the eyes of her lover, looking at those
things. She shivered slightly.
She said to herself, "It's the room his father died in.
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