And would they ever, ever stop happening?
This was only the eighth day since her promulgated sailing.

Three more months, ninety days of twenty-four hours each, before Olivetta-- "Matilda," she burst out in a despairing whisper, "I can't stand this another minute!" "Oh, ma'am!" wailed Matilda.
"That Mr.Pyecroft--" Words failed her.

"I've simply got to get out of this somehow!" "Of course, ma'am.

But--but our changes haven't helped us much yet.
If we tried to leave the house, that Mr.Pyecroft might follow and we might find ourselves even in a worse way than we are, ma'am." "Nothing can be worse than this!" "I'm not so sure, ma'am," tremulously doubted Matilda.

"We never dreamed anything could be so bad as this, but here this is." There was a vague logic in what Matilda said; but logic none the less.
Unbelievable, and yet so horribly actual as this was,--was what had thus far happened only the _legato_ and _pianissimo_ passages of their adventure, with _crescendo_ and _fortissimo_ still ahead?
Mrs.De Peyster closed her eyes, and did not speak.