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Onedayasshesataloneinthelibraryponderingthesethingsthewallsofbooksbegantospinaroundher,andtherosewooddesktorockunderherelbows.ThedizzinesswasfollowedbyawaveofnausealikethatshehadfeltonthedayoftheexercisesintheTownHall.ButtheTownHallhadbeencrowdedandstiflinglyhot,andthelibrarywasempty,andsochillythatshehadkeptonherjacket.Fiveminutesbeforeshehadfeltperfectlywell;andnowitseemedasifsheweregoingtodie.Thebitoflaceatwhichshestilllanguidlyworkeddroppedfromherfingers,andthesteelcrochethookclatteredtothefloor.Shepressedhertempleshardbetweenherdamphands,steadyingherselfagainstthedeskwhilethewaveofsicknesssweptoverher.Littlebylittleitsubsided,andafterafewminutesshestoodup,shakenandterrified,gropedforherhat,andstumbledoutintotheair.Butthewholesunlitautumnwhirled,reeledandroaredaroundherasshedraggedherselfalongtheinterminablelengthoftheroadhome.
Assheapproachedtheredhouseshesawabuggystandingatthedoor,andherheartgavealeap.ButitwasonlyMr.Royallwhogotout,histravelling-baginhand.Hesawhercoming,andwaitedintheporch.Shewasconsciousthathewaslookingatherintently,asiftherewassomethingstrangeinherappearance,andshethrewbackherheadwithadesperateeffortatease.Theireyesmet,andshesaid:“Youback?”asifnothinghadhappened,andheanswered:“Yes,I’mback,”andwalkedinaheadofher,pushingopenthedoorofhisoffice.
