Wood trembled. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. If I’m late again I’ll have to serve another detention!” She excused herself, hoping it was not too obvious she was running away. Manning, and that her aunt focussed a brightly tactful disregard upon this throughout the meal.
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