And she watched the tangled sunflowers dying, the chrysanthemums coming out, and the dahlias.
Paul and she were afraid of each other.

He knew, and she knew, that she was dying.

But they kept up a pretence of cheerfulness.

Every morning, when he got up, he went into her room in his pyjamas.
"Did you sleep, my dear ?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered.
"Not very well ?" "Well, yes!" Then he knew she had lain awake.

He saw her hand under the bedclothes, pressing the place on her side where the pain was.
"Has it been bad ?" he asked.
"No.