Tess soon perceived as she walked in the flock, sometimes with this

one, sometimes with that, that the fresh night air was producing

staggerings and serpentine courses among the men who had partaken too

freely; some of the more careless women also were wandering in their

gait--to wit, a dark virago, Car Darch, dubbed Queen of Spades, till

lately a favourite of d'Urberville's; Nancy, her sister, nicknamed

the Queen of Diamonds; and the young married woman who had already

tumbled down. Yet however terrestrial and lumpy their appearance

just now to the mean unglamoured eye, to themselves the case was

different. They followed the road with a sensation that they were

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soaring along in a supporting medium, possessed of original and

profound thoughts, themselves and surrounding nature forming

an organism of which all the parts harmoniously and joyously

interpenetrated each other. They were as sublime as the moon and

stars above them, and the moon and stars were as ardent as they.

Tess, however, had undergone such painful experiences of this kind in

her father's house that the discovery of their condition spoilt the

pleasure she was beginning to feel in the moonlight journey. Yet she

stuck to the party, for reasons above given.

In the open highway they had progressed in scattered order; but now

their route was through a field-gate, and the foremost finding a

difficulty in opening it, they closed up together.

This leading pedestrian was Car the Queen of Spades, who carried a

wicker-basket containing her mother's groceries, her own draperies,

and other purchases for the week. The basket being large and heavy,

Car had placed it for convenience of porterage on the top of her

head, where it rode on in jeopardized balance as she walked with

arms akimbo.

"Well--whatever is that a-creeping down thy back, Car Darch?" said

one of the group suddenly. All looked at Car. Her gown was a light cotton print, and from the

back of her head a kind of rope could be seen descending to some

distance below her waist, like a Chinaman's queue.

"'Tis her hair falling down," said another.

No; it was not her hair: it was a black stream of something oozing

from her basket, and it glistened like a slimy snake in the cold

still rays of the moon. "'Tis treacle," said an observant matron.

Treacle it was. Car's poor old grandmother had a weakness for the

sweet stuff. Honey she had in plenty out of her own hives, but

treacle was what her soul desired, and Car had been about to give her

a treat of surprise. Hastily lowering the basket the dark girl found

that the vessel containing the syrup had been smashed within.




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