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“
Not
but
that
it
’
s
a
grand
big
place
in
a
gloomy
way
,
and
Mr
.
Craven
’
s
proud
of
it
in
his
way
—
and
that
’
s
gloomy
enough
,
too
.
The
house
is
six
hundred
years
old
and
it
’
s
on
the
edge
of
the
moor
,
and
there
’
s
near
a
hundred
rooms
in
it
,
though
most
of
them
’
s
shut
up
and
locked
.
And
there
’
s
pictures
and
fine
old
furniture
and
things
that
’
s
been
there
for
ages
,
and
there
’
s
a
big
park
round
it
and
gardens
and
trees
with
branches
trailing
to
the
ground
—
some
of
them
.
”
She
paused
and
took
another
breath
.
“
But
there
’
s
nothing
else
,
”
she
ended
suddenly
.
Mary
had
begun
to
listen
in
spite
of
herself
.
It
all
sounded
so
unlike
India
,
and
anything
new
rather
attracted
her
.
But
she
did
not
intend
to
look
as
if
she
were
interested
.
That
was
one
of
her
unhappy
,
disagreeable
ways
.
So
she
sat
still
.
“
Well
,
”
said
Mrs
.
Medlock
.
“
What
do
you
think
of
it
?
”
“
Nothing
,
”
she
answered
.
“
I
know
nothing
about
such
places
.
”
That
made
Mrs
.
Medlock
laugh
a
short
sort
of
laugh
.
“
Eh
!
”
she
said
,
“
but
you
are
like
an
old
woman
.
Don
’
t
you
care
?
”
“
It
doesn
’
t
matter
”
said
Mary
,
“
whether
I
care
or
not
.
”
“
You
are
right
enough
there
,
”
said
Mrs
.
Medlock
.
“
It
doesn
’
t
.
What
you
’
re
to
be
kept
at
Misselthwaite
Manor
for
I
don
’
t
know
,
unless
because
it
’
s
the
easiest
way
.
He
’
s
not
going
to
trouble
himself
about
you
,
that
’
s
sure
and
certain
.
He
never
troubles
himself
about
no
one
.
”
She
stopped
herself
as
if
she
had
just
remembered
something
in
time
.
