She said “yes” because, along with all these things to flee, all those longed-for escapes, she felt that Grigor really did love her, that when he looked into her face, into her eyes, he saw her; and she felt that he loved what he saw. When he held her hand in his, she felt safe. Miss Grainger only hardened towards her more. If it wasn’t the seduction of Mr Howard and the stealing of her dreams, she could not believe that the little darkie was going to marry a Kraut. That Elizabeth would cohabitate, fornicate and spawn with one who smelt of immorality—the result would be a bastard breed of black Huns. The thought would make her shake with revulsion as she would angrily set the table or count out the silverware. As soon as Elizabeth would enter the room, Miss Grainger would loudly slam down a knife or a spoon, give Elizabeth an accusing stare, and leave the room. It was Miss Grainger’s undisguised loathing that made Elizabeth happiest to get away, more than Mrs Howard’s tangible resentment and petty meanness, as much as the constant fear that Mr Howard would resume his night-time visits.
