...of animosity

The next day when she went back to work it seemed that everything had changed.
Even the flies shunned her - even the flies had found her out.
Russ worked grimly behind his counter. As he handed her the plates he declined to meet her eye. It was difficult that way. Mary dropped one - a writhing egg flapping helplessly in a tempest of tomato blood and chipped plate. As she was clearing it up she glimpsed Russ’s reflection in the glass panel - a vindictive splitting his fat-nosed face. Even Alan had greeted her coolly. She no longer felt him gently beaming her with his eyes, and when she turned to him nervously he was always looking the other way, seeming to snigger in silence at her and her losses. I can’t bear it, thought Mary. It’s unbearable. What do you do when you can’t bear something like this?
At mid-morning Mary still trembled alone over the dishes in the smoked and yellow kitchen. Her mind, too, churned and splashed in the villainous water. Why did they hate her? She thought it must be the Hostel. Was it so bad to be there? Did that part of you seep into all the other parts? Or was it the books! When she returned to the Hostel the night before she found that Mrs Pilkington had confiscated four of the boys’ books, without explanation. Two remained: Britt and Management: An Introduction. Mary did not know how serious this was or what she was going to do about it. Then she had a thought that made her whole body fuss with heat. Was it out? Did everybody know about her now? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she chanted to herself, and worked on. The flies still circled her, in widening arcs of anxiety. Oh, how vile you must be now, she thought. How vile you must be, when even the flies shun you.

[Other People, Amis, M.]