The death room had been made ready for the living. The death-bed waited for the bride.
Ally stood there, under the eyes of her lover, looking at those things. She shivered slightly.
She said to herself, "It's the room his father died in."
And there came on her a horror of the room and of all that had happened in it, a horror of death and of the dead.
She turned away to the window and looked out. The long marshland stretched below, white under the August sun. Beyond it the green hills with their steep gray cliffs rose and receded, like a coast line, head after head.
To Ally the scene was desolate beyond all bearing and the house was terrible.
Her eyelids pricked. Her mouth trembled. She kept her back turned to Greatorex while she stifled a sob with her handkerchief pressed tight to her lips.
He saw and came to her and put his arm round her.
"What is it, Ally? What is it, loove?"
She looked up at him.