Maggie came on with her heart in her hands; she came on with the definite prevision, throbbing like the tick of a watch, of a doom impossibly sharp and hard, but to which, after looking at it with her eyes wide open, she had none the less bowed her head.

By the time she was at her companion's side, for that matter, by the time Charlotte had, without a motion, without a word, simply let her approach and stand there, her head was already on the block, so that the consciousness that everything had now gone blurred all perception of whether or no the axe had fallen.

Oh, the "advantage," it was perfectly enough, in truth, with Mrs.Verver; for what was Maggie's own sense but that of having been thrown over on her back, with her neck, from the first, half broken and her helpless face staring up?
That position only could account for the positive grimace of weakness and pain produced there by Charlotte's dignity.
"I've come to join you--I thought you would be here." "Oh yes, I'm here," Maggie heard herself return a little flatly.

"It's too close in-doors." "Very--but close even here." Charlotte was still and grave--she had even uttered her remark about the temperature with an expressive weight that verged upon solemnity; so that Maggie, reduced to looking vaguely about at the sky, could only feel her not fail of her purpose.

"The air's heavy as if with thunder--I think there'll be a storm." She made the suggestion to carry off an awkwardness--which was a part, always, of her companion's gain; but the awkwardness didn't diminish in the silence that followed.