Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. New customs have prevailed over the old. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. If I were Mr. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. The day is already half over.
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