Mrs. Gould, her colour heightened, and with glistening eyes, looked
straight before her at the sudden enormity of that disaster. The
finger-tips on one hand rested lightly on a low little table by her
side, and the arm trembled right up to the shoulder. The sun, which
looks late upon Sulaco, issuing in all the fulness of its power high
up on the sky from behind the dazzling snow-edge of Higuerota, had
precipitated the delicate, smooth, pearly greyness of light, in which
the town lies steeped during the early hours, into sharp-cut masses of
black shade and spaces of hot, blinding glare. Three long rectangles
of sunshine fell through the windows of the sala; while just across the
street the front of the Avellanos's house appeared very sombre in its
own shadow seen through the flood of light.
A voice said at the door, "What of Decoud?"
It was Charles Gould. They had not heard him coming along the corredor.
His glance just glided over his wife and struck full at the doctor.
"You have brought some news, doctor?"
Dr. Monygham blurted it all out at once, in the rough.
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