She wiped her eyes and finished her tea.
Joan had arranged to leave on the Monday.

She ran down to see Mary Stopperton on the Saturday afternoon.

Mr.Stopperton had died the year before, and Mary had been a little hurt, divining insincerity in the condolences offered to her by most of her friends.
"You didn't know him, dear," she had said to Joan.

"All his faults were on the outside." She did not want to talk about the war.
"Perhaps it's wrong of me," she said.

"But it makes me so sad.