It was going to hurt.

There was no doubt of that.

She saw the fatuous, approving face of the eternal Mrs.Phillips, thrust ever between them, against the background of that hideous furniture, of those bilious wall papers--the loneliness that would ever walk with her, sit down beside her in the crowded restaurant, steal up the staircase with her, creep step by step with her from room to room--the ever unsatisfied yearning for a tender word, a kindly touch.

Yes, it was going to hurt.
Poor Robert! It would be hard on him, too.

She could not help feeling consolation in the thought that he also would be wearing that invisible crown.
She must write to him.