She had always found something painful and repellent in those crucifixes of wood which distort and deepen the lines of ivory, or in those of ivory which gives again the very pallor of human death.

But the precious metal had somehow eternalised the symbol of the crucified body.

She saw more than the torture, the exhaustion, the attenuation.

Surely, on the closed eyelids there rested the glory and the peace of divine accomplishment?
She stood still, holding it in her hand and looking at it.

Majendie stood still, also looking at her.