Page 209 - sons-and-lovers

‘But whether or not—-’ he replied.
‘And she can’t help it. She is like that, and if you choose
her—well, you can’t grumble,’ said his mother.
On the Sunday morning, as he was putting his collar
on:
‘Look,’ he said to his mother, holding up his chin, ‘what a
rash my collar’s made under my chin!’
Just at the junction of chin and throat was a big red in-
flammation.
‘It ought not to do that,’ said his mother. ‘Here, put a bit
of this soothing ointment on. You should wear different col-
lars.’
He went away on Sunday midnight, seeming better and
more solid for his two days at home.
On Tuesday morning came a telegram from London
that he was ill. Mrs. Morel got off her knees from washing
the floor, read the telegram, called a neighbour, went to her
landlady and borrowed a sovereign, put on her things, and
set off. She hurried to Keston, caught an express for London
in Nottingham. She had to wait in Nottingham nearly an
hour. A small figure in her black bonnet, she was anxiously
asking the porters if they knew how to get to Elmers End.
The journey was three hours. She sat in her corner in a kind
of stupor, never moving. At King’s Cross still no one could
tell her how to get to Elmers End. Carrying her string bag,
that contained her nightdress, a comb and brush, she went
from person to person. At last they sent her underground to
Cannon Street.
It was six o’clock when she arrived at William’s lodging.

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