I am sorry I told you that lie, too. Indeed, it is the first I ever did tell you.
"Well, I don't think there is much more to say. Oliver, my dear, good-bye. I send you my love with all my heart.
She sat still when she had read it through, and her eyes were still wet with tears. Yet it was all perfectly true. She was far happier than she could be if she had still the prospect of going back. Life seemed entirely blank: death was so obvious an escape; her soul ached for it, as a body for sleep.
She directed the envelope, still with a perfectly steady hand, laid it on the table, and leaned back once more, glancing again at her untasted breakfast.
Then she suddenly began to think of her conversation with Mr. Francis; and, by a strange association of ideas, remembered the fall of the volor in Brighton, the busy-ness of the priest, and the Euthanasia boxes. . . . ✴✴✴✴✴ When Sister Anne came in a few minutes later, she was astonished at what she saw. The girl crouched at the window, her hands on the sill, staring out at the sky in an attitude of unmistakable horror.
Sister Anne came across the room quickly, setting down something on the table as she passed. She touched the girl on the shoulder.
"My dear, what is it?"
There was a long sobbing breath, and Mabel turned, rising as she turned, and clutched the nurse with one shaking hand, pointing out with the other.
"There!" she said. "There—look!"
