She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. "Enough," said Jack, recovering his composure. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. JACK SHEPPARD.
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