Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

Mary found an old apron hanging behind the kitchen door, and she put it on over her black dress and got to work. She laid a fire in the kitchen range, and having persuaded it to burn after a second supply of wood and paper, she brought down blankets and sheets from the linen cupboard on the landing, and hung them to air on the backs of chairs. She was very busy, and all the while she was conscious of a queer secret feeling; she left the curtains drawn; she wanted to be undisturbed.

People came and knocked. She let them knock. One of the visitors was poor Coode; she was sure of it, divining his identity by the self-effacing and deprecating little rat-tat that he gave. She could imagine him saying very earnestly--"Can I be of any use,-- Mrs. Fream?" About four o'clock she heard a voice calling--"Mrs. Fream, Mrs. Fream!" It was the voice of Phyllis Perrivale, and she left it unanswered.