Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. ‘Was this when Nicholas commended you to this Abbess?’ ‘But, yes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment.
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