Page 467 - sons-and-lovers

thought nor slept, but sat perfectly still, staring. And when
at last he was so cold that he came to himself, he found
his watch had stopped at half-past two. It was after three
o’clock. He was exhausted, but still there was the torment
of knowing it was only Sunday morning. He went to bed
and slept. Then he cycled all day long, till he was fagged
out. And he scarcely knew where he had been. But the day
after was Monday. He slept till four o’clock. Then he lay and
thought. He was coming nearer to himself—he could see
himself, real, somewhere in front. She would go a walk with
him in the afternoon. Afternoon! It seemed years ahead.
Slowly the hours crawled. His father got up; he heard
him pottering about. Then the miner set off to the pit, his
heavy boots scraping the yard. Cocks were still crowing. A
cart went down the road. His mother got up. She knocked
the fire. Presently she called him softly. He answered as if he
were asleep. This shell of himself did well.
He was walking to the station—another mile! The train
was near Nottingham. Would it stop before the tunnels?
But it did not matter; it would get there before dinner-time.
He was at Jordan’s. She would come in half an hour. At any
rate, she would be near. He had done the letters. She would
be there. Perhaps she had not come. He ran downstairs. Ah!
he saw her through the glass door. Her shoulders stooping
a little to her work made him feel he could not go forward;
he could not stand. He went in. He was pale, nervous, awk-
ward, and quite cold. Would she misunderstand him? He
could not write his real self with this shell.
‘And this afternoon,’ he struggled to say. ‘You will

Sons and Lovers