I cursed St.Croix especially for that last touch of humiliation he had set to it.

Then, forgetting myself as my anger abated, I thought of Kit so far away at Caylus--of Kit's pale, gentle face, and her sorrow.

And little by little I forgave Croisette.

After all he had not begged for us--he had not stooped for our sakes, but for hers.
I do not know how long I lay at see-saw between these two moods.

Or whether during that time the others talked or were silent, moved about the room or lay still.