Valerie tried to speak, but no words would come. Something seemed to be gripping her by the throat. The walls of the room, too, were closing in, and there was a strange, roaring noise—like that of mills working….
With a terrific effort she fought unconsciousness away….
Her—their nest then, was, after all, inviolate. He had never taken Anne there. Betty had sent him. And—he had—been bored—stiff….
It was as if a mine had been sprung beneath the spot upon which had been dumped her emotions of the last two months, blowing some to atoms, bringing to light others that had lain buried. Out of the wrack, joy, shame, fear fell at her feet—and a sentence out of a letter was staring her in the face.
"His explanation will shame you, of course, but take the lesson to heart."
"I wonder," she said shakily, "if you could give me Major Lyveden's address."
"I would, like a shot," said Anne heartily, "but he wouldn't leave one."
Again the rumble of those labouring mills came swelling out of the silence into a roar that was thunderous, brain-shaking…. For a moment of time they pounded the understanding mercilessly…. Then, all of a sudden, the machinery stopped.
The corn was ground.