julia. Oh, don't, my dear Martha! It's past.
martha. Yes; but it's upset me. The relief, that's what I can't get over: the relief!
julia. Presently you will be more used to it.
(She helps her off with her cloak.)
martha. There were people sitting to right and to left of me and opposite; and suddenly a sort of crash of darkness seemed to come all over me, and I saw nothing more. I didn't feel anything: only a sort of a jar here.
(She indicates the back of her neck. Julia finds these anatomical details painful, and holds her hands deprecatingly; but Laura has no such qualms. She is now undoing the parcel which, she considers, is hers.)
laura. I daresay it was only somebody's box from the luggage-rack. I've known that happen. I don't suppose for a minute that it was a railway accident.
(She unfurls the tissue paper of the box and takes out the wreath.)
julia. Why talk about it?
laura. Anyway, nothing has happened to these. 'With fondest love from Martha.' H'm. Pretty!