She hadn't blamed Violet for coming back. Even now, as she sat on Violet's bed and was tortured by those lights under Violet's eyelids, even now she didn't blame her. And if she turned her shoulder it was not because she minded Violet looking at her (she was past minding that), but because she was afraid to look at Violet. She didn't want to see her lying there. It was almost as if she were afraid of hating her.
Behind her Violet was stirring. She had drawn up her outstretched limbs and raised herself on the pillows. Winny felt her behind her, restless and alert.
Then she spoke again.
"You needn't mind, Winny. It's got to be."
"Mind? What makes you think I'm minding?"
"The way you sit there with your mouth shut, saying nothing."
"There's nothing to say. I'm not surprised. You've not told me anything I didn't know."
"Well, any one would think you didn't approve of it. Why can't you get up and say you hope we'll be happy, or something?"
"Of course, I hope you'll be happy. I want you to be happy."
(Of course she did.)