She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. “I mean REALLY independent. Capes most unfair,” Miss Klegg went on in a small, even voice; “MOST unfair! I’m glad you spoke out as you did. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. But it was otherwise with the carpenter.
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