Page 60 - sons-and-lovers

After a while she went home. A fine shadow was flung
over the deep green meadow, darkening all.
As she expected, she found the house empty. But Morel
was home by ten o’clock, and that day, at least, ended peace-
fully.
Walter Morel was, at this time, exceedingly irritable.
His work seemed to exhaust him. When he came home he
did not speak civilly to anybody. If the fire were rather low
he bullied about that; he grumbled about his dinner; if the
children made a chatter he shouted at them in a way that
made their mother’s blood boil, and made them hate him.
On the Friday, he was not home by eleven o’clock. The
baby was unwell, and was restless, crying if he were put
down. Mrs. Morel, tired to death, and still weak, was scarce-
ly under control.
‘I wish the nuisance would come,’ she said wearily to
herself.
The child at last sank down to sleep in her arms. She was
too tired to carry him to the cradle.
‘But I’ll say nothing, whatever time he comes,’ she said.
‘It only works me up; I won’t say anything. But I know if he
does anything it’ll make my blood boil,’ she added to her-
self.
She sighed, hearing him coming, as if it were some-
thing she could not bear. He, taking his revenge, was nearly
drunk. She kept her head bent over the child as he entered,
not wishing to see him. But it went through her like a flash
of hot fire when, in passing, he lurched against the dresser,
setting the tins rattling, and clutched at the white pot knobs