He would keep his bed, of course! They separated, crying quietly.
Aunt Juley stayed in her room, prostrated by the blow.

Her face, discoloured by tears, was divided into compartments by the little ridges of pouting flesh which had swollen with emotion.

It was impossible to conceive of life without Ann, who had lived with her for seventy-three years, broken only by the short interregnum of her married life, which seemed now so unreal.

At fixed intervals she went to her drawer, and took from beneath the lavender bags a fresh pocket-handkerchief.

Her warm heart could not bear the thought that Ann was lying there so cold.
Aunt Hester, the silent, the patient, that backwater of the family energy, sat in the drawing-room, where the blinds were drawn; and she, too, had wept at first, but quietly, without visible effect.