(But she was not going to speak yet; not she!) He stopped before the chimney-piece; it was covered with ridiculous objects, the things that please a child: there were Swiss cow-bells and stags carved in wood, Chinese idols that wagged their heads, little images of performing cats, teacups, a whole shelf full of toys.

Not one of them but had some minute fragment of his wife's personality adhering to it.

He remembered the insane impulse that came upon him last year to smash them, sweep the lot of them on to the floor.
To-night he could have kissed them, cried over them.

"T-t-t-tt! What affecting absurdity!" That was the way he went on.

And now he sat down by her writing-table, and was taking things up and examining them while he talked.