” She brought her knees up to her chest, and rocked back and forth like a small child. ” She appraised him. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. She knew now that he never would. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. Creative work appeals to me wonderfully.
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