It was not even easy to imagine.

What struck me most was her--I suppose I must call it--composure.

One could not tell whether she understood what she had done.

One wondered.

She was not so much unreadable as blank; and I did not know whether to admire her for it or dismiss her from my thoughts as a passive butt of ferocious misfortune.
Looking back at the occasion when we first got on speaking terms on the road by the quarry, I had to admit that she presented some points of a problematic appearance.