“Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand. It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. She ignored it until it repeated itself. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. Jolly nice girl, too.
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