Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. ‘She knows them. Her head ached with a hollow pain. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. E.
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