Talk about Don Quixote and the windmills! You must just see the beginning!" How could she disappoint or refuse him, though the prospect was a moving horror in her mind?
She could close her eyes.

He had called her.

He wanted her to see it with him.

How could she refuse, lessen herself perhaps in his opinion?
She leant out upon the window-sill and looked bravely below.

Their shoulders were touching--she found even consolation and assistance in that.
"Do you think it'll be long ?" she asked in a low voice.
"Don't know; it all depends.