‘Oh dear!’ She sat there, tearing up turf with shaking cold wet hands, face averted, eyes staring, mouth open and out of shape, impossible to control. ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!’ The repetition was a sort of whine or mew.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said sharply. He sank down beside her, and his astounded face came round her shoulder.
‘Oh, the poor little thing, the poor little thing!...’
‘Do you mean the rabbit?’
She nodded.
‘But, Judith—good heavens! A rabbit.... Judith. I’d never have shot it if I’d dreamed you’d mind.’
She went on staring and pulling up the grass.
‘Oh, this world!’
‘Judith....’ He was silent, completely at a loss.
‘Still—it can’t be helped.... I suppose one gets accustomed....’