Chapter 30 second quarter

How does a person's terror come about?How did it form?Where did the horror hide before it emerged? It's such a short sentence that I can't forget it after hearing it: "Take me away - it's horrible in here - it feels so evil..." Why did Megan say that?What does she find evil? Mrs. Simmington's death couldn't possibly make Megan feel evil. So why did the kid feel evil?Why?Why? Is it because she feels somewhat responsible? Megan?impossible!Megan couldn't possibly have had anything to do with those letters -- letters that were ridiculous and obscene.

Irving Griffey had a case of this sort up north--a schoolgirl . . . What did Inspector Graves say? The psychology of puberty… Innocent middle-aged women hypnotized into words they could hardly understand, little boys scribbling with chalk on the walls... No, no, it won't be Meghan. genetic?Inferiority?Unknowingly inherited some abnormal genetics?Was her misfortune caused by the curse of her ancestors? "I'm not the right man to be your wife. It's better to hate me than to love me." Oh my Megan, my little girl.Won't!Absolutely not!That spinster who haunts you, she doubts you, says you have the guts, the guts to do "what"?

It was just a whim and it passed quickly, but I wanted to see Meghan - desperately wanted to see her. At nine-thirty that night I left the house and went into the street, stopping by Symington's. At this time, a new idea suddenly came to my mind, thinking of a woman that no one had ever suspected. (Or had Nash suspected her too?) So improbable, so unbelievable, that to this day I still think impossible.But it's not like that, no, it's not entirely impossible. I quickened my pace because I was now more eager to see Meghan right away. I went through Symington's gate and came to the front of the house.

It was a gloomy night, the sky started to rain lightly, and the visibility was very low. I see a light coming from a room, is that the little living room? After hesitating for a moment, I decided not to go in through the front door. I changed direction, crept to the window, and hid under a big tree. The light was coming through the gaps in the curtains, which were not fully drawn and it was easy to see inside. It was a strangely serene family picture: Symington in a big rocking chair, Elsie Holland busy mending a child's shirt. The window was open so I could hear their conversation too.

Elsie Holland says: "But I really think both boys are old enough to go to boarding school, Mr Symington. Not because I like being away from them, no, I like them both too much." Symington said: "Perhaps you are right about Brian, Miss Holland. I decided to send him to Wenhays, my old college preparatory school, next semester. But Colin is still a little young, and I would rather let him go." Stay at home for an extra year." "Oh, of course, I see what you mean, and Colin's mentally younger than he is—" It was a perfectly domestic conversation--a serene domestic scene--that golden hair buried in needlework again.

The door opened suddenly, and Megan stood straight at the door. Immediately I noticed that she was tense, her face was tense, her eyes were shining. , firm and godly.Tonight, she didn't look shy or childish at all. She was addressing Symington, but not addressing him. (It occurs to me that I've never heard her call him before. Did she call him "Daddy"? "Dick"? Or something else? "I want to talk to you alone." Symington seemed surprised, and, I suppose, not too pleased.He frowned, but Megan carried a rare determination. She turned to Elsie Holland and said, "You don't mind going away, Elsie."

"Oh, of course not." Elsie Holland jumped up, looking very surprised and a little panicked. She walked to the door, Megan took a step forward, and Elsie walked past her. For a moment Elsie stood motionless in the doorway, looking ahead. With her mouth tightly shut, she stood upright, with one hand stretched forward, while the other was still working on her needlework. I held my breath, suddenly overwhelmed by her beauty. When I think of her now, I think of her then--standing motionless, with that incomparable perfection only found in ancient Greece. Then she went out and closed the door.

Simmington said with a little irritability: "Okay, Megan, what's the matter? What do you want?" Megan walked to the table and stood looking down at Symington.I was taken aback again by the determined and serious look on her face that I hadn't seen before. Then she said something that frightened me even more. "I want money," she said. Simmington's anger was not appeased by her request, he said sternly: "Can't you wait until tomorrow? What's wrong? Do you think your pocket money is not enough?" Even then, I thought he was a reasonable and fair guy who just didn't pay much attention to the emotional demands of others.

"I want a lot of money," Meghan said. Simmington sat up straight and said coldly: "In a few months, you'll be an adult and the public trust will pass on to you the money your grandmother gave you." Megan says: "You don't know what I mean, I want you to give me money." She went on faster: "No one has talked to me about my father, and they don't want me to know him, but I know he sat Prison, and I know the reason—blackmail!" She paused, then said: "I'm his daughter. Like a father, like a daughter. But I'm asking you for money because—if you won't give me—" She paused, and said very slowly and calmly, "If you don't I—I'm going to tell you what you did to the medicine pack that day in Mother's room."

After a moment of silence, Simmington said in an emotionless voice: "I don't know what you're talking about." She smiled, not a kind smile. Symington stood up, walked to the writing table, took out the checkbook from his pocket, wrote a check, dried the ink carefully, and walked back to Meghan. "You're grown up," he said. "I know you want to buy some clothes or something. I don't know what you mean, and I don't care, but here's a check for you." Megan looked at the check and said, "Thank you, this will kill some days." She turned and walked out of the room. Simmington watched her go out. After the door closed, he turned around. I saw the expression on his face and couldn't help taking a quick step up.

Just then, I noticed that another tree beside me moved. Inspector Nash grabbed me by the hand, and his voice rang in my ears: "Quiet, Burton, for heaven's sake, be quiet." Then he pulled me back very carefully. When he reached the corner of the room, he stood up straight and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Of course," he said, "you always have to be tricky in time." "That girl is not safe," I said anxiously, "Did you see the expression on his face? We must get her out of this place." Nash grabbed my arm hard. "Listen carefully, Mr. Burton."