"It's a pump, like an organ. "One of us has got to die," he panted. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. He stood still, almost breathless. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. “Well,” she said.
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