The situation bothered him considerably. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. "Intruding!" echoed Mrs. She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair.
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