In Praise of Lady Margery Kyteler, Chapter 8

⁠​​​‌​​​​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​⁠She heard the wicket-gate close, and in her heart she knew that she would never again see him. No gray eyes any more, nor curly hair. Her face had become now a white and quivering mask. She snatched a cloak up and, wrapping it round her, she went blindly into the garden.

She began to shake with great silent sobs. Her face was wet now, and she could n't see. She sank at the roots of the mountain-ash