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During the whole underside of her life, ever since her first memory, Eleanor had been waiting for something like Hill House.
Mrs. Sanderson told the family lawyer that at any rate there was really nothing in the house Luke could steal. The old silver there was of some value, she told the lawyer, but it represented an almost insuperable difficulty for Luke: it required energy to steal it and transform it into money.
But this is what I came so far to find, she told herself; I can’t go back.
Journeys end in lovers meeting, she thought, remembering her song at last, and laughed, standing on the steps of Hill House, journeys end in lovers meeting, and she put her feet down firmly and went up to the veranda and the door.
“It was terrible, being here alone.”
Perhaps it has us now, this house, perhaps it will not let us go.
Theodora looked up at her gravely. “I have a hunch,” she said, “that you ought to go home, Eleanor.”
I will relinquish my possession of this self of mine, abdicate, give over willingly what I never
wanted at all; whatever it wants of me it can have.
In the unending, crashing second before the car hurled into the tree she thought clearly, Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this? Why don’t they stop me?
