"Well, then, let's begin. Come along."
She shook her head. There was a slight spasm in her throat as if the idea of food sickened her.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing—nothing. I'm all right. I don't want to eat anything, that's all. I must be going soon."
"You're tired out, Win. You've got past it. Tell you what, I'll make you a cup of tea."
"No, Ranny, don't. I'd rather not."
She rose, and yet she did not go. He had never known Winny so undecided.
Then suddenly she stooped. On the floor of the hearth rug she had caught sight of some bits of blue silk left from Violet's sewing. With an almost feverish concentration of purpose she picked up each one of the scraps and snippets; she threw them on the hearth. Slowly, deliberately, spinning out her thread of time, she gathered what she had strewed; she gathered into a handful the little scraps and snippets of blue silk, powdered with the gray ashes from the hearth, and dropped them in the fire, watching till the last shred was utterly destroyed.
There was a faint cry overhead and Ransome started up.
The cry or his movement clenched her resolution.