“Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. Cathy's eyes widened, her cheeks expanding to a smile. The one I have is a duplicate. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Why not? Quite willing. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her.
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