She knew not how to endure it, she who had endured so much.
She reached the wood, and entered one of the many aimless paths that wandered through it.

The uneven ground sloped downwards to the south, and through the manifold branches of the undergrowth of budding hazels the sea lay deeply blue, far away.

The primroses were everywhere among the trees.

A winding side path beckoned to her.

She walked a few steps along it, and came suddenly upon a clearing in the coppice.
She stood still, dazed.
The primroses had taken it for their own, had laid tender hold upon that little space, cleared and forgotten in the heart of the wood.
Young shoots of hazel and ash pricked up here and there from ivy-grown stumps, moss gleamed where it could, through the flood of primroses.