As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. “Here goes,” he said. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action.
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