"He has been indefatigable in his search," continued Winifred, "and has even journeyed to Manchester. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. “You need not be alarmed,” he said.
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