As a trade she should have looked at it. As the leaving of one
master to labour in the service of another she should have weighed
its issue. Yet, even now, the cruelty of that outlook revolted her.
Had she viewed it thus, those three years of absolute happiness could
never have been and she could not even forego the memory of them.
But the knowledge that had come to her, brought decision with it.
She could stay no longer where she was. The thought of meeting just
those few people whom she knew, who knew her, in the streets, drove
the blood burning to her forehead. She must go away--away from
London--away from every chance incident that might fling back in her
face the tragedy of her existence. Away from all its associations
she would be able to hide it; not from herself, not from the biting
criticism of her own thoughts. But from others; she could hide it
from them.
That night she wrote to Janet asking her to come and see her; and
the next day they sat opposite to each other at a table in a quiet
restaurant up West.
"I'm going to take your advice," Sally began.
"You're going away?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"At once; in a day or two, as soon as I hear from mother.
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