If only she could be at peace, like a drowned thing.
Lying there, she longed to die, to dissolve away into the moss, the earth, the cool, green air.

And feeling this, in the sudden beauty, tears, for the first time, came to her eyes.

She turned over on her face, burying it in her arms and muttering in childish language, 'I'm sick of it; sick to death of it.' As she spoke she was aware that some one was near her.

A sudden footfall, a sudden pause, followed her words.

She lifted her head, then she sat up.