"It's so still," he said suddenly, "that it's almost like thunder. There'll
be a storm later. On a day like this in Cornwall you would hear the sound
of the Mining Stamps for miles--"
"Well," she answered, "I am glad we're not in Cornwall--I hate it."
"Hate it!"
"Yes. That sounds horrible to you, I suppose, and I'm quite ready to admit
that it's my cowardice. Cornwall frightens me. When I was there as a tiny
girl it was just the same. I always hated it."
"I don't believe you're ever frightened at anything."
"I am. I'm under such a disadvantage, you see. If I'd been white-faced and
haggard every one would have thought it quite natural that I should scream
if I were left in the dark or hate being left alone with those horrible
black rocks that Cornwall's so full of, but just because I'm healthy and
was taught to hold my back up at school I have to pretend to a bravery that
simply doesn't exist--" He rejected, for the moment the last part of her
sentence. "Oh, but I understand perfectly what you mean by your fear of
Cornwall. Of course I understand it although I love the place with all my
soul and body. But it is terrifying--almost the only terrifying place that
civilisation has left to us--Central Africa is nothing to it--"
"Are you afraid of it?" she said, looking at him intently.
"Tremendously--because I suppose it won't let me alone.
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