aid to
herself: "Sarah Gailey has nothing to look forward to, except worry.
Sarah Gailey is at the end, instead of at the beginning!"

II

When she got off the train at Turnhill station, early that afternoon,
she had no qualm at the thought of meeting George Cannon; she was not
even concerned to invent a decent excuse for her silence in relation to
his urgent letter. She went to see him for the sake of Sarah Gailey, and
because she apparently might be of use in some affair of Sarah's--she
knew not what. She was proud that either Sarah or he thought that she
could be of use, or that it was worth while consulting her. She had a
grave air, as of one to whom esteem has brought responsibilities.

In Child Street, leading to High Street, she passed the office of
Godlimans, the auctioneers. And there, among a group of white posters
covering the large window, was a poster of the sale of "valuable
household furniture and effects removed from No. 15 Lessways Street."
And on the poster, in a very black line by itself, stood out saliently
the phrase: "Massive Bedroom Suite." Her mother's! Hers! She had to stop
and read the poster through, though she was curiously afraid of being
caught in the act. All the principal items were mentioned by the
faithful auctioneers; and the furniture, thus described, had a strange
aspect of special importance, as if it had been subtly better, more
solid, more desirable, than any other houseful of furniture in the
town,--Lessways' furniture! She sought for the date. The sale had taken
place on the previous night, at the very hour when she was lolling and
laughing in the drawing-room of Lane End House with the Orgreaves! The
furniture was sold, dispersed, gone! The house was empty! The past was
irremediably closed! The realization of this naturally affected her,
raising phantoms of her mother, and of the face of the cab-driver as he
remarked on the drawn blinds at the Cedars. But she was still more
affected by the thought that the poster was on the window, and the
furniture scattered, solely because she had willed it. She had said:
"Please sell all the furniture, and you needn't consult me about the
sale. I don't want to know. I prefer not to know. Just get it done." And
it had been done! How mysteriously romantic! Some girls would not have
sold the furniture, would not have dared to sell it, would have accepted
the furniture and the house as a solemn charge, and gone on living among
those relics,