Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. "Hands off!" she exclaimed, "or you'll repent it. Members of the crowd looked over their shoulders and stared at her through the smoky haze. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. .
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