"But, Aunt Sarah, we never think of you as old; you have such a modern point of view." Sarah Greene steadied herself and regained her normal tranquil expression. "I must be getting old," she announced, "because you're making me feel quite sentimental. In fact the sooner we get off to the theatre the better." She rose and went with Mary to fetch her cloak, perfectly in command of herself again, but a cold breath of foreboding had touched Roger. All evening, at the theatre listening to the play, during the intervals while he talked to his aunt and his wife, even in the taxi driving home, he was teased by the recollection of Mrs. Greene's face. He felt as if he had been given a clue to some puzzle, but not a final clue that would unravel it. Later, as he was falling asleep, he thought contentedly: well anyhow she'll be here for ten days; perhaps she'll tell me; I might be able to help, whatever it is. IV Sarah Greene wakened in the night straight from deep sleep to considerable pain. She had wakened often these last few months to that same rending pain which numbed her elbow, ran up her under arm, stabbed fiercely at her arm-pit and concentrated itself in an agonising grasp of her left breast. She had lain on her back panting and sweating, conscious of her heart thumping unevenly, waiting for the first moment of relief when she would be able to stretch out her hand for the opiate that was always ready by her bed: an opiate too mild to give sleep, but strong enough to dull the edge of the attack. When this stage had been reached and she was no longer abandoned to the horror of the moment, Mrs. Greene almost invariably found herself betrayed into moments, and even hours, of pure panic, when speculation as to the nature of her disease forced itself on her reluctant mind. Time and again she had brought herself to the point of deciding to see a specialist; time and again she had told herself that she knew what it was--cancer--and she would repeat the word, Cancer; cancer is what is wrong with you Sarah Greene; but always there had been an element of uncertainty to torment her with a hope too frail to build on but too tough to disregard. These hours of desperate indecision had culminated at last in the appointment with Dr. Stiff, whose verdict left no loophole, as Mrs. Greene remembered when the pain began to subside. Instead, she was conscious of a feeling of comfortable relaxation. The ugly possibility established as an inevitable fact, had lost its horror; it simply had to be accepted and dealt with.