"I can't say I do," replied Wood. She turned with an effort. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. I am quite sure though that they did not mean to be rude. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. That’s why we are here. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. "I've done all I can to the portrait here.
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