277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me.
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