She drank it in.
Maggie also took the last joy of the familiar scene.

The Vicarage, like a grey crouching cat, lay basking on the green hill.

The sunlight flooded the dark wood; galleons of clouds rolled like lumbering vessels across the blue sky.
"It's lovely, isn't it ?" whispered Maggie.
"Beautiful--beautiful," sighed her aunt.
"I've always loved just this view.

I've often walked here just to see it," Maggie said.
Aunt Anne sat back in her seat.
"It's been hard for me always to live in London.

I love the country so." "So do I," said Maggie, passionately.
For a moment they were together, caught up by the same happiness.
Then Aunt Anne said: "Why, your bag, dear! The things are all about the place." Maggie bent down.