Violet did not think of Edmund being carried away. Already this buried hook of pain was what remained of him. She ran and seized the woman, falling on her knees too. The woman’s shouts pulsed into her chest and Violet began to sob, gripping tighter, squeezing her tears against the woman’s neck. She heard someone saying her name and stared up through the strands of the woman’s hair at Albert in his mustard waistcoat, stricken, his monocle trapped and blurred in his eye. The woman shouted again into her chest, wrestling in her grip, and Violet put her mouth to her ear, whispering. “Was it love?” she said. “Please, tell me, please, was it love?”