Sophy hardly stirred at her entrance, but there was less ghastliness about her, and as Albinia sat down she did not remove her hand, and turned slightly round, so as to lose that strange corpse-like attitude of repose.
‘You are not so cold, dearest,’ said Albinia. ‘Have you slept?’
‘I think not.’
‘Are you better? Have you been comfortable?’
‘Oh yes.’ Then, with a pause, ‘Yes—it was like being nothing!’
‘You were not faint, I hope?’
‘No—only lying still. Don’t you know the comfort of not thinking or feeling?’
‘Yes; this has been far too much for you. You have done enough now, my generous Sophy.’
‘Not generous; one can’t give away what one never had.’
‘I think it more gracious to yield without jealousy or bitterness—’