His fingers convulsively twisted a torn scrap of bunting; his shoulders heaved.

It was M.Raoul.
Dorothea paused in the doorway and spoke his name.

He did not look up.
She stepped towards him.
"M.

Raoul!" A sob shook him.

She laid a hand gently on his bowed head, on the dark wave of hair above his strong, shapely neck.