Chapter Eleven
Grunewald sat in the parlour at Somerdale. The morning was but barely advanced, and he was not at all accustomed to such early hours. That must account for his being so out of humour.
Or perhaps it was the disobliging way in which his thoughts would keep straying to the wretched creatures who had taken up residence in his house. He could not account for the existence of a sister he had hitherto known nothing of; and Bessie’s behaviour was no less unfathomable! He experienced the unsettling feeling of being wildly out of control: of his house, his connections, his kingdom and (in short) his entire life. It was as though a carpet had been abruptly pulled from beneath his feet, and all he had been able to do in response was tumble, helpless, to the ground. Whereupon every per
