She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. It struck the major that she was very young. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. ” Lucy gestured to the rough plywood floor.
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