He had let go her hand, and as he withdrew his eyes, her head returned to its former position; and once more she began to play with the pendant token.
Her profile was against the window. The consuming internal fire had burnt away all that was earthly, common in her, and had etherialised, refined the face.
"Urith!"
"Why do you vex me?"
"Turn fully round to me, Urith. What is that in your hand?"
"A token."
"Who gave it you?"
"It belonged to my father."
"It is broken."
"Everything is broken. Nothing is sound. Faith—trust—love." She paused between each word, as gathering her thoughts. "Everything is broken. Words—promises—oaths—." Then she looked at the token. "Everything is broken. Hearts are broken—lives—unions—nothing is sound."