He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. Not a word passed between them. No more. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. ” Brendon rushed to the piano and strummed out a tune. It was a purse.
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