he said, turning round.

Her face was covered with tears, she made curious, downward grimaces with her mouth, to get control.

Yet her heart was not crying — it was cold and earthy.

“What kind would you like — any?” persisted her uncle.

“I should love some peppermint drops,” she said, in a strange, normal voice, from her distorted face. But in a few moments she had gained control of herself, and was still, detached.

“Let us go into the town,” he said, and he rushed her into a train, moving to the town station. They went to a cafe to drink coffee, she sat looking at people in the street, and a great wound was in her breast, a cold imperturbability in her soul.