At first I thought of building a house as near to the cottage as
possible; but this would take time, and I could not rest out of
Wales. I decided at last to have a wooden bungalow built. By telling
the builders that time was the first consideration with me, the cost
a secondary one, I got a bungalow built in a few weeks. By the
tradesmen of Chester I got it fitted up and furnished to my taste
with equal rapidity. Attending to this business gave real relief.
When the bungalow was finished I removed into it the picture 'Faith
and Love.' I also got in as much painting material as I might want
and began to make sketches in the neighbourhood.
Time went on, and there I remained. In a great degree, however, the
habit of grieving was conquered by my application to work. My
moroseness of temper gradually left me.
Beautiful memories began to take the place of hideous ones--the
picture of the mattress and the squalor gave place to pictures of
Winifred on the sands of Raxton or on Snowdon. Yet so much of habit
is there in grief that even at this time I was subject to recurrent
waves of the old pain--waves which were sometimes as overmastering as
ever.
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