There was no color anywhere, where all had been color before.

Miles of black cloth and crape seemed to extend before her; black horses came and stamped black hoof-marks in the snow before the door.

Endless arrangements had to be made, endless letters to be written.

Something was carried heavily down-stairs, all in black, scoring the wall at the turn on the stairs in a way which would have annoyed Lady Deyncourt exceedingly if she had been there to see it, but she had left several days before it happened.

The last pale shadow of the kind, gay little grandmother was gone from the great front bedroom up-stairs.