Sixteen MR. RYCROFT

Emily woke early the next morning. Being a sensible young woman, sherealized there was little possibility of Mr. Enderby’s collaboration¹ until themorning was well advanced. So, feeling restless and unable to lie still sheset out for a brisk walk along the lane in the opposite direction fromwhich they had come last night.
She passed the gates of Sittaford House on her right and shortly afterthat the lane took a sharp turn to the right and ran steeply up hill andcame out on the open moor² where it degenerated³ into a grass track andsoon petered out altogether. The morning was a fine one, cold and crisp,and the view was lovely. Emily ascended⁴ to the very top of Sittaford Tor, apile of grey rock of a fantastic shape. From this height she looked downover an expanse of moorland, unbroken as far as she could see withoutany habitation or any road. Below her, on the opposite side of the Tor,were grey masses of granite⁵ boulders⁶ and rocks. After considering thescene for a minute or two she turned to view the prospect⁷ to the northfrom which she had come. Just below her lay Sittaford, clustering on theflank of the hill, the square grey blob of Sittaford House, and the dottedcottages beyond it. In the valley below she could see Exhampton.
“One ought,” thought Emily confusedly, “to see things better when youare high up like this. It ought to be like lifting off the top of a doll’s houseand peering in.”
She wished with all her heart that she had met the dead man even ifonly once. It was so hard to get an idea of people you had never seen. Youhad to rely on other people’s judgment⁸, and Emily had never yet acknow-ledged that any other person’s judgment was superior to her own. Otherpeople’s impressions were no good to you. They might be just as true asyours but you couldn’t act on them. You couldn’t, as it were, use anotherperson’s angle of attack.

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