Then she drew her breath in as far as it would go, and caught hold of the door-post.

Her face got awful.

It was like the wax face of a dead king I saw once at Madame Tussaud's.
Alice understood.

She caught hold of the soldier's mother's hand and said-- 'Oh, NO--it's NOT your boy Bill!' And the woman said nothing, but shoved the postcard into Alice's hand, and we both read it--and it WAS her boy Bill.
Alice gave her back the card.

She had held on to the woman's hand all the time, and now she squeezed the hand, and held it against her face.
But she could not say a word because she was crying so.