She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. “No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. Sheppard returned no answer. . It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. “John, that is what you say now. Which is also puzzling. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. “Well——” She stopped short.
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