The boy, whenever he was not doing anything, moped in the house.

It made her uneasy; it made her nervous, she confessed.

And that from the calm Winnie sounded like exaggeration.

But, in truth, Stevie moped in the striking fashion of an unhappy domestic animal.

He would go up on the dark landing, to sit on the floor at the foot of the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands.