The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. I'll take two apprentices, and depict their career. ’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again.
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