Explore "On The Night Express" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Connie looked pathetically from one to the other of her companions with a thin smile and the suspicion of tears very near the surface. It was plain enough that she had suffered terribly during the last few days, for despite her make-up, her cheeks were pallid and under her eyes were blue rings that told of anxiety and sleepless nights. Dora Stevenage found it hard to restrain her own emotions.
"Oh, you poor dear thing," she murmured. "I can't tell you how dreadfully sorry I am. But please do regard me as a friend, though we are comparative strangers. And do tell me what all this means."