She reached for the door handle. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. “Well, I don’t feel like standing it. ” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. Q. That's part of the bargain. ” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure.
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