Needless to say
that she never read anything but police news; in the fiction of her
world she found no charm, so sluggishly unimaginative was her
nature. Till of late she had either abandoned herself all day long
to a brutal indolence, eating rather too much, and finding quite
sufficient occupation for her slow brain in the thought of how
pleasant it was not to be obliged to work, and occasionally in
reviewing the chances that she might eventually have plenty of money
and no Joseph Snowdon as a restraint upon her; or else, her physical
robustness demanding exercise, she walked considerable distances
about the localities she knew, calling now and then upon an
acquaintance.
Till of late; but a change had come upon her life. It was now seldom
that she kept the house all day; when within doors she was restless,
quarrelsome. Joseph became aware with surprise that she no longer
tried to conceal her enmity against him; on a slight provocation she
broke into a fierceness which reminded him of the day when he
undeceived her as to his position, and her look at such times was
murderous. It might come, he imagined, of her being released from
the prudent control of her mother.
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