She stumbled through the snow.
"Take care, Constance.... The pavements are slippery.... Take my arm."
"No, I can manage."
"Take my arm."
She took his arm. She slipped again; he held her up. He felt that she was trembling.
"Are you cold?"
"No."
"You've got a thick cloak on."
"I'm not cold."
"What are you so nervous about?"