ABSTRACT
On Tuesday afternoon Molly returned home, to the home which was already strange, and what Warwickshire people would call ‘unked,’ 127 to her. New paint, new paper, new colours; grim servants dressed in their best, and objecting to every change – from their master’s marriage to the new oilcloth in the hall, ‘which tripped ’em up, and threw ’em down, and was cold to the feet, and smelt just abominable.’ All these complaints Molly had to listen to, and it was not a cheerful preparation for the reception which she already felt to be so formidable.
