If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. ‘I have a very good mind to do so, imbecile. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. The burden of decision had been transferred.
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