Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. He patted the hand on his sleeve. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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