Her face.

Our eyes met--square.

I _got_ it--flung to me in that one look.

What the world had done to her--what she thought of it for doing it--what she meant to do about it.
"I wish," he went on, with a slow, heavy calm, "that the 'good' men and women of the world--those 'good' men and women who eat good dinners and sleep in good beds--some of the 'God's in heaven all's well with the world' people--could have that look wake them up in the middle of the night.

I'd like to think of them turning to the wall and trying to shut it out--and the harder they tried the nearer and clearer it grew.