This thinking was long and curious.

It was confused, barely conscious at times, all mingled with the long bright waves that came rolling in from the shining sea.

The picture of her sister's face kept rising up before her there--of Amy in her bedroom good-humouredly talking and smiling, and teaching Ethel how to get on; of Amy with her husband, throwing swift, vigilant glances at him, kissing him, nestling in his arms.

In her thinking Ethel grew hot and cold, with jealousy, swift self-reproach and a new, alarming tenderness.
She thought of Joe, of his every look, his smile and the tones of his gruff voice; of Joe grief-stricken and half crazed, of Joe awakening, coming back.

Again with a warm rush of feelings, not unmingled with dismay, she would go over in her mind their talks and the queer, almost guilty expression that had often come in his eyes.