on a little table in front of her was an open book; but her eyes, fixed and full of inexpressible grief, seemed for the hundredth time to be skimming the same page whilst her thoughts were far away.
liburu bat zeukan zabalik aurreko mahaitxoan, baina, nonbait, begi geldo eta tristura azal ezin batez beteak ehungarren aldiz lerratzen zitzaizkion orrialde beretik, gogoa handik urrun izango balu bezala...