‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. Soon, they fattened up, their cheeks rosy and their hair shining. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. Here again instinct guided her.
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