And they all saw death on her face, they said.

It was a great event in the street.
Morel wanted to carry her indoors, but he was too old.

Arthur took her as if she were a child.

They had set her a big, deep chair by the hearth where her rocking-chair used to stand.

When she was unwrapped and seated, and had drunk a little brandy, she looked round the room.
"Don't think I don't like your house, Annie," she said; "but it's nice to be in my own home again." And Morel answered huskily: "It is, lass, it is." And Minnie, the little quaint maid, said: "An' we glad t' 'ave yer." There was a lovely yellow ravel of sunflowers in the garden.