Even the man of books had eyes that could see; and Raby's face during this interview had told a tale of something more than casual sympathy.
The season dragged on, and nothing occurred to mend matters at Clarges Street.

Percy moped and could settle down to nothing.

He spurned his books, he neglected his horse, and gave up the river entirely.

It was vain to reason or expostulate with him, and after a couple of months his parents marked with anxiety that the boy was really ill.

Yet nothing would induce him to quit London.