Her heart was weary.—If you must see, you big good man, then see. I can fend no more. I let go. She covered her face one moment with her hands. No tears. Her head lifted, eyes blazing.
“Well,” she said, “have you seen enough? Have you had enough! Coward!”
A heavy hand lay gently upon hers. Gentle hand outstretched from a long arm.... O how long! and there, vastly beyond as in a dream, this man: solid red good.
“Quiet,” his hand spoke to her. The other hand. “Quiet.” Fanny jumped up.
She saw him there, and that he was frightened.
—He is frightened by me, he is frightened about me! He cares because he sees me in pain. He is worried about me. Impossible, impossible. Right this!
Fanny’s scream knifed through the grayness. Then she was clear. She stood there, seeing him in the dark room, clear.
He saw her clarity: his brow clouded.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought you were sick: you seemed hysterical, Mrs. Luve. I meant only to quiet you.”
“Your hand you mean? It was good. Thank you for your hand, sir. It took one scream from me. Thank you.”