She followed the official back into his room. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. The signs of the shops were carried to incredible distances. “Shut up, you little faggot. Buck up. ’ Which effectually silenced her. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher.
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