That seemed strange to Kate.

How could she be resting in an hour which had just been tacked on to her life?
And then it came to her that perhaps it was a long time since the girl had sat in a chair like that.

If she had had a chance, when things were going badly, to sit in such a chair and rest, might the river have seemed a less desirable place?
She had always supposed it was _big_ things--queer, abstract, unknowable things like forces and traits that made life and death.

Did _chairs_ count?
As the girl's eyes closed, surrenderingly, Katie was glad that no matter what she might decide to do about things she had had that hour in the big, tenderly cushioned wicker chair.

It might be a kinder memory to take with her from life than anything she had known for a long time.
Katherine had grown very still, still both outwardly and inwardly.