Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. They were both dressed in every respect alike. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. They concern us all. “What did it matter?” she cried. Then it dawned.
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