John Sheppard. ’ ‘I could have done so at the first and saved you the pain,’ she told him merrily. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. But, be like a son to her. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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