‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. And that would spoil it. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. Sheppard. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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