Ursula saw a man with a lantern come
out of a farm by the railway, and cross to the dark farm-buildings. She
thought of the Marsh, the old, intimate farm-life at Cossethay. My God,
how far was she projected from her childhood, how far was she still to
go! In one life-time one travelled through aeons. The great chasm of
memory from her childhood in the intimate country surroundings of
Cossethay and the Marsh Farm--she remembered the servant Tilly, who
used to give her bread and butter sprinkled with brown sugar, in the
old living-room where the grandfather clock had two pink roses in a
basket painted above the figures on the face--and now when she was
travelling into the unknown with Birkin, an utter stranger--was so
great, that it seemed she had no identity, that the child she had been,
playing in Cossethay churchyard, was a little creature of history, not
really herself.
They were at Brussels--half an hour for breakfast. They got down. On
the great station clock it said six o'clock.
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