“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares.
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