She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. “Why not? It might amuse me. ” “No,” cried Miss Miniver, almost vehemently. "You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. F.
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