"Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. That is the dreadful truth. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. His face was very serious.
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