“My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. That had shut him up for a while. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. “She’s all right.
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