She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper.
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