Her voice sank; but the darkened room was full of the echoes of it⁠—the whispering of Mrs. Otter, who was evidently telling Olwen a story, being the only force that resisted it. And the dark-green curtains were delighted. “See you on Sundays⁠ ⁠… see you on Sundays,” they repeated, while the draught-board “History of the World” echoed the word “Sundays,” making it seem like the very voice of that charitable institution which accepted both mother and child.