“I don’t know. " There fell upon the three the silence of perfect understanding; and in this silence each saw a vision. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight.
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