She was greatly heartened by doing this. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. I know all about it. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. ” “Quite. You go home and wait a century, Vee, and then try again. She was making it up.
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