Page 51 - sons-and-lovers

But he was late, so she concluded he had called for a
drink, since it was raining. What did he care about the child
or her?
She was very ill when her children were born.
‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling sick to death.
‘A boy.’
And she took consolation in that. The thought of being
the mother of men was warming to her heart. She looked
at the child. It had blue eyes, and a lot of fair hair, and was
bonny. Her love came up hot, in spite of everything. She had
it in bed with her.
Morel, thinking nothing, dragged his way up the garden
path, wearily and angrily. He closed his umbrella, and stood
it in the sink; then he sluthered his heavy boots into the
kitchen. Mrs. Bower appeared in the inner doorway.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘she’s about as bad as she can be. It’s a
boy childt.’
The miner grunted, put his empty snap-bag and his tin
bottle on the dresser, went back into the scullery and hung
up his coat, then came and dropped into his chair.
‘Han yer got a drink?’ he asked.
The woman went into the pantry. There was heard the
pop of a cork. She set the mug, with a little, disgusted rap,
on the table before Morel. He drank, gasped, wiped his big
moustache on the end of his scarf, drank, gasped, and lay
back in his chair. The woman would not speak to him again.
She set his dinner before him, and went upstairs.
‘Was that the master?’ asked Mrs. Morel.
‘I’ve gave him his dinner,’ replied Mrs. Bower.

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