Most people who have lived long in the world, and have parted with their beloved, know what that sort of hopeless ache means.
My work was over at the hospital, and I had come home again,--to rest, so they said, but in reality to work out plans for my future life, in a sort of sullen silence, that seemed to shut me out from all sympathy.
It had wrapped me in a sort of mantle of reserve all the afternoon, during which I had been driving with Aunt Philippa and Sara.

The air would do me good.

I was moped, hipped, with all that dreary hospital work, so they said.

It would distract and amuse me to watch Sara making her purchases.

Reluctance, silent opposition, only whetted their charitable mood.
'Don't be disagreeable, Ursula.