It did not occur to her, as the car took her swiftly back to the office, also to be thankful that neither had she to walk back, as they had, in the streaming rain and cold of the dark evening.
She swallowed one of Miss Bruce's quinine tablets with her hot tea, but was unable to eat anything, and sat over her letters with throbbing temples and a temperature that she felt to be rising rapidly. She pored over each simplest sentence again and again, unable to attach any meaning to the words dancing before her aching, swimming eyes.
Soon after half-past six Grace Jones came back from the station, her pale face glowing from the wind and rain, unabated vigour in her movements.
"Have you only just got back?"
"I had some tea downstairs. I've been in about ten minutes."
Char raised her eyebrows with an expression that would have caused Miss Delmege ostentatiously to refrain from tea every day for a week, had it been directed towards herself.
But Miss Jones only said tranquilly: "Is there anything that I can do for you?"
"No. Yes. You can answer that telephone."
The bell had suddenly sounded, and Char felt no strength to exert the swollen, aching muscles of her throat.
Grace took up the receiver.