“That’s sheer nonsense,” Min said. “How could the Slaney be in full flood on a fine day in June? The Slaney was the same as any other day.”

Martin went to his own chair and sat down. “My legs aren’t getting any better,” he said. “I can’t stand on my own feet these days.”

“You’ve tired yourself out making speeches,” Min said.

Martin still held the photograph of Delia. He lifted it to see it better. He’s trembling too much, Min thought. She wondered if she could get him to go to his room and lie down. “You’re wearing yourself out,” she said.

Martin gazed at the shaking photograph. “It’s very like her,” he said. Then he fitted it back into its envelope, pressing his lips together and frowning, like a foolish old man making an effort to do something that was beyond him.

“I’ll do that for you,” she said, getting ready to stand up and go over to him.

“You stay where you are,” he said, and when he had the photograph safe he placed the envelope on the low shelf under his table. “I shouldn’t have stood up so long,” he said, and then he took his book from the table and began reading, but after a minute he got up and went out of the room, carrying the book with him. “I’m going to my room,” he said without looking at her. “I might lie down for a bit.”