“Lady Summerhay; Mr. Bryan Summerhay. I said, 'Not at home,' sir.”
Winton nodded.
“Well?”
“Nothing at present. You have had no lunch, sir.”
“What time is it?”
“Four o'clock.”
“Bring in my fur coat and the port, and make the fire up. I want any news there is.”
Markey nodded.
Odd to sit in a fur coat before a fire, and the day not cold! They said you lived on after death. He had never been able to feel that SHE was living on. SHE lived in Gyp. And now if Gyp—! Death—your own—no great matter! But—for her! The wind was dropping with the darkness. He got up and drew the curtains.
It was seven o'clock when the doctor came down into the hall, and stood rubbing his freshly washed hands before opening the study door. Winton was still sitting before the fire, motionless, shrunk into his fur coat. He raised himself a little and looked round dully.