Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. 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. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. Lost ground must be regained.
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