“What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. The others hurried to the window. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. . She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. The tired woman looked quietly at her. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. At least I can give you a glimmer. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am.
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