She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. "How is the patient?" he asked. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?” “I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself.
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