Page 176 - sons-and-lovers

in silence.
And then he came to the corner at home, which faced the
other side of the night. The ash-tree seemed a friend now.
His mother rose with gladness as he entered. He put his
eight shillings proudly on the table.
‘It’ll help, mother?’ he asked wistfully.
‘There’s precious little left,’ she answered, ‘after your
ticket and dinners and such are taken off.’
Then he told her the budget of the day. His life-story, like
an Arabian Nights, was told night after night to his mother.
It was almost as if it were her own life.

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