For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. 214 < 27 > REVELATION IN THE CORNFIELD “This is my favorite thing. . She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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