No one was there, only the evening sun like a kindly spirit moving from place to place, touching all with gentle, tender fingers. Strange that she could have slept for so long! She would never sleep again—never. Always would she watch, untouched, unmoved, that strange, coloured, leaping world moving round and round before her, moving for others, for their delight, their pain, but only for her scorn.
Mary Cass came in with her serious face and preoccupied air.
"Hullo Mill! Head better?"
"Yes, thanks."
"That's good. Had a sleep?"
"Yes."
"Splendid. . . . Lord, I've got plenty of work here. I don't know what they think we're made of. Talk about stuffing geese to get foie-gras! People say that's wicked. Nothing to what they do to us. Had any tea?"
"No."
"Want any?"
"No thanks."