His wife had preceded him some time before, and with her ample form defined vaguely under the counterpane, her head on the pillow, and a hand under the cheek offered to his distraction the view of early drowsiness arguing the possession of an equable soul.

Her big eyes stared wide open, inert and dark against the snowy whiteness of the linen.

She did not move.
She had an equable soul.

She felt profoundly that things do not stand much looking into.

She made her force and her wisdom of that instinct.
But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying heavily upon her for a good many days.