"It's only me, mum," muttered Alf.
Her face frightened him: so did her breathing: so did her quiet.
"Come in then," she said. "And shut the door."
Ern still sat at the table.
"You little og!" said Alf fiercely, and shook his brother.
His mother, still on her hands and knees, restrained him.
"Let him be," she said. "It's past that. It's past all."
The door opened slowly.
Mr. Caspar stood in it in the faded quilted dressing-gown that had once graced historic rooms at Trinity.
He stood there, dishevelled from sleep, a tall, round-shouldered ruin of a man, every sign of distress upon his face.