'I won't--won't--sleep,' she said to herself.
And the last sound she was conscious of was the cry of the little downy owl--so near that it seemed to be almost at her window.
* * * * * 'You are unhappy,' said a voice beside her.
Lucy started.

The self in her seemed to wrestle its way upward from black and troubled depths of sleep.

She opened her eyes.

Someone was bending over her.

She felt an ineffable horror, but not the smallest astonishment.