The girl brushed her hand over her eyes. "I'm going home," she said in a low voice from which all individuality had passed. Her face seemed anxious, her manner hurried.
"What's the matter, Nell? My God! Look at her eyes!—I'm going with her."
The girl put him aside with a gesture. Her look awed him.
One of the others began to laugh.
"Stop! You fool," one of the girls cried. They sat in silence as the younger girl went out, putting aside every hand stretched out to touch her. She walked like one in stupor—her face ghastly. The arch of her beautiful eyebrows was like that of Ophelia in her bitterest moment.
The others watched her go in silence.
One of them drew a sigh and said: "I'm going home, too; I don't feel well."
"I'll go with ye," one of the men said.
"Stay where you are!" said the girl sharply.