Wilkins's funny, flickering face was blown out. Scrap felt she would
particularly dislike this to happen to Mrs. Wilkins's face, yet she had
never in her life met any wives, not any at all, who had been able to
understand that she didn't in the least want their husbands. Often she
had met wives who didn't want their husbands either, but that made them
none the less indignant if they thought somebody else did, and none the
less sure, when they saw them hanging round Scrap, that she was trying
to get them. Trying to get them! The bare thought, the bare
recollection of these situations, filled her with a boredom so extreme
that it instantly sent her to sleep again.
When she woke up she went on with Mr. Wilkins.
Now if, thought Scrap, Mr. Wilkins were not an exception and
behaved in the usual way, would Mrs. Wilkins understand, or would it
just simply spoil her holiday? She seemed quick, but would she be
quick about just this? She seemed to understand and see inside one,
but would she understand and see inside one when it came to Mr.
Wilkins?
The experienced Scrap was full of doubts. She shifted her feet
on the parapet; she jerked a cushion straight. Perhaps she had better
try and explain to Mrs. Wilkins, during the days still remaining before
the arrival--explain in a general way, rather vague and talking at
large--her attitude towards such things.
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