155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. It could not be she who had done this. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. ’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. White, who held out her hand and beamed a welcome upon him.
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