Sebastian, as doctor, was constantly around the sick and the dying. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment? ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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