He and Kate were living in a damp company of
amorphous clay monsters, unfinished witnesses to the creative frenzy
which had seized him after the sale of his group; and the doctor had
urged that his patient should be removed to warmer and drier
lodgings. But to uproot Caspar was impossible, and his sister could
only feed the stove, and swaddle him in mufflers and felt slippers.
Stanwell found that during his absence Mungold had reappeared, fresh
and rosy from a summer in Europe, and as prodigal as ever of the
only form of attention which Kate could be counted on not to resent.
The game and champagne reappeared with him, and he seemed as ready
as Stanwell to lend a patient ear to Caspar's homilies. But Stanwell
could see that, even now, Kate had not forgiven him for the Cupids.
Stanwell himself had spent the early winter months in idleness. The
sight of his tools filled him with a strange repugnance, and he
absented himself as much as possible from the studio. But Shepson's
visit roused him to the fact that he must decide on some definite
course of action.
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