Chapters (26)
- Cover
- Praise for The Springs of Affection
- Also by Maeve Brennan
- INTRODUCTION
- The Morning after the Big Fire
- The Old Man of the Sea
- The Barrel of Rumors
- The Day We Got Our Own Back
- The Lie
- The Devil in Us
- The Clever One
- A Young Girl Can Spoil Her Chances
- A Free Choice
- The Poor Men and Women
- An Attack of Hunger
- Family Walls
- The Drowned Man
- The Twelfth Wedding Anniversary
- The Carpet with the Big Pink Roses on It
- The Shadow of Kindness
- The Sofa
- The Eldest Child
- Stories of Africa
- Christmas Eve
- The Springs of Affection
- NOTE
Giving the hatpins a final push, buttoning her coat, taking her key to the front door out of her handbag and throwing it on the hall table, she saw that she was in terrible danger. She was in danger of hurling herself back into the room and throwing herself into the chair alongside Hubert and begging him to forgive her and to comfort her. She listened fearfully for the sound of her own running footsteps and for the sound of his voice, but there was only silence in the house, no sound at all. She had been in danger, but she had not given way, she had not moved. She turned off the light in the hall and also the light that shone over the front door, to show that she expected no welcome back, because she was not coming back, and she left the house. She was astonished; she felt an indulgent astonishment at her former anguish and helplessness and at the importance she had attached to the house and all its little furnishings, when all the time all she had ever really wanted was to run away as far as she could go. It had taken the awful things Hubert had said to make her see the true facts of the case. He had hunted her out of her own house. He must have been mad for a moment there, to say such things. His face had been very red. He had never been so angry before. But he had ordered her out. She had always felt responsible for the house. She had always thought he needed her there to take care of him. There were a lot of little things she did for him — waiting on him and seeing that things were as he liked them to be. He would miss her. But nobody could ever blame her for going, not after tonight. Nobody could ever accuse her of running away from her duty. And she could not blame herself, after what he had said to her, after the terrible things he had said. It showed the sort of man he was, that he would make up things like that. She would never give him away, she would never let out a word of what he had said, even to John. She would never tell anybody. She would try to forget it herself, but it was going to be difficult to forget a shock like that.