Journal of Katherine Mansfield
… I kissed her. Her flesh felt cold, pale, soft. I thought of nuns who have prayed all page 160 night in cold churches…. All her warmth and colour and passion she had offered up in prayer, in cold ancient churches…. She was chill, severe, pale; the light flickered in her raised eyes like the light of candles; her skirt was worn shiny over her peaked knees; she smelled faintly of incense. “No, Father. Yes, Father. Do you think so, Father?” (But still I haven't said what I wanted to say.) October 18, 1920.