I joined the circle in the candlelight.

I wrung my hands, I moaned; but I was always slow of tears--I could not weep.

But I wanted to look like the others.

So I streaked my cheeks with the only moisture at hand.
Alas for my pious ambition! alas for the noble lament of the women! Somebody looked up and caught me in the act of manufacturing tears.

I grinned, and she giggled.