Eileen Ni Cooley had her two arms under her face; she was lying on her breast, and her hair streamed sidewards from her head along the dull grass.
Mary stood in front of Art, and she did not look at him; she turned her grave face away, and stared sidewards where the late sunshine drowsed in gold on the rough slopes.
But just as he'd thought he meet her eyes squarely she turned her head sidewards and directed that bright gaze of hers, as she'd often done before, over his shoulder and away.
