Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. The rest she meant to keep for her immediate necessities.
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