And so it continued.There was apparently a great deal to be said about the Lectern, and then about the Choir-Screen, and then about the Reredos, and then about the Pulpit, and then about the Vestry, and then about the Collecting-Box for the Poor, and then about the Hassocks, and finally about the Graveyard...To all this Maggie listened and hoped that she made the proper answers, but the truth of the matter was that she was cold and dismayed.The Chapel had been ugly enough, but behind its ugliness there had been life; now with the Church as with the house there was no life visible.Paul, putting his hand on her shoulder, said:
"Here, darling, will be the centre of our lives.This is our temple.
Round this building all our happiness will revolve.""Yes, dear," said Maggie.She was taken then for a little walk.They went down Ivy Road and into Skeaton High Street.Here were the shops.Mr.Bloods, the bookseller's, Tunstall the butcher, Toogood the grocer, Father the draper, Minster the picture-dealer, Harcourt the haberdasher, and so on.Maggie rather liked the High Street; it reminded her of the High Street in Polchester, although there was no hill.Out of the High Street and on to the Esplanade.You should never see an Esplanade out of the season, Katherine had once said to Maggie.That dictum seemed certainly true this time.There could be no doubt that this Esplanade was not looking its best under the blustering March wind.Here a deserted bandstand, there a railway station, here a dead haunt for pierrots, there a closed and barred cinema house, here a row of stranded bathing-machines, there a shuttered tea-house--and not a living soul in sight.In front of them was a long long stretch of sand, behind them to right and left the huddled tenements of the town, in front of them, beyond the sand, the grey sea--and again not a living soul in sight.The railway line wound its way at their side, losing itself in the hills and woods of the horizon.
"There are not many people about, are there?" said Maggie.Nor could she wonder.The East wind cut along the desolate stretches of silence, and yet how strange a wind! It seemed to have no effect at all upon the sea, which rolled in sluggishly with snake-like motion, throwing up on the dim colourless beach a thin fringe of foam, baring its teeth at the world in impotent discontent.