"Oh, don't--don't be so considerate!" she wanted to exclaim to him.

"What good does it do ?" As they smiled at each other, again and again she had to fight down an impulse to cry--or shiver.

She would bite her lips and turn away and watch people, then turn quickly back and start talking rapidly.
At home, alone in Amy's room, she sat at the dressing table there, her movements swift and feverish.

She had often looked at herself of late in her mirror in the nursery, but now she did not look into the glass.
Her hands were cold.

In a very few minutes she called to Joe.
And a little later, on her old bed by the cradle in the nursery, she lay violently trembling and staring intently up at the ceiling.
"What has happened ?" she asked.