" With this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his shoulder. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. ‘And nor do I. I should have known at a glance if it was. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. It was as though he were personally aggrieved.
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