Page 202 - sons-and-lovers

‘Which?’ asked William.
‘My new black SUEDE.’
‘No.’
There was a hunt. She had lost them.
‘Look here, mother,’ said William, ‘that’s the fourth pair
she’s lost since Christmas—at five shillings a pair!’
‘You only gave me TWO of them,’ she remonstrated.
And in the evening, after supper, he stood on the
hearthrug whilst she sat on the sofa, and he seemed to hate
her. In the afternoon he had left her whilst he went to see
some old friend. She had sat looking at a book. After supper
William wanted to write a letter.
‘Here is your book, Lily,’ said Mrs. Morel. ‘Would you
care to go on with it for a few minutes?’
‘No, thank you,’ said the girl. ‘I will sit still.’
‘But it is so dull.’
William scribbled irritably at a great rate. As he sealed
the envelope he said:
‘Read a book! Why, she’s never read a book in her life.’
‘Oh, go along!’ said Mrs. Morel, cross with the exaggera-
tion,
‘It’s true, mother—she hasn’t,’ he cried, jumping up and
taking his old position on the hearthrug. ‘She’s never read
a book in her life.’
‘Er’s like me,’ chimed in Morel. ‘Er canna see what there
is i’ books, ter sit borin’ your nose in ‘em for, nor more can
I.’
‘But you shouldn’t say these things,’ said Mrs. Morel to
her son.

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