Power to think of some things was taken from her.

Meanwhile, abiding a day of judgment, she fought ceaselessly to deny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, the intangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into her heart.
On the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court for Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle.

It came from the grove, somewhere toward the corrals.

Jane glanced out in alarm.

The day was dull, windless, soundless.