"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. ’ He opened the purse and extracted a couple of guineas. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger.
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