When he joined her again she was crying softly.
"You're coming with me?
It is good of you." "I'm responsible for you to Zora." A shaft of jealousy shot through her tears.
"You always think of Zora." "To think of her," replied Septimus, vaguely allusive, "is a liberal education." Emmy shrugged her shoulders.

She was not of the type that makes paragons out of her own sex, and she had also a sisterly knowledge of Zora unharmonious with Septimus's poetic conception.

But she felt too miserable to argue.

She asked him the time.
At last the train came in.

There was a great rattling of milk-cans on the gloomy platform, and various slouching shapes entered third-class carriages.