The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. ‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends. "Perhaps that would have been best. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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