Her eyes were vacant and rigid; all the life in her face had faded out of it.

Francis took her by the hand.

Her hand was as cold as the pavement that they were standing on.

He asked her if she was ill.
Not a muscle in her moved.

He might as well have spoken to the dead.
'Surely,' he said, 'you are not foolish enough to take what I have been telling you seriously ?' Her lips moved slowly.