Page 63 - sons-and-lovers

He hiccoughed. ‘Let’s—let’s look at it,’ he said, hiccough-
ing again.
‘Go away!’ she cried.
‘Lemme—lemme look at it, lass.’
She smelled him of drink, felt the unequal pull of his
swaying grasp on the back of her rocking-chair.
‘Go away,’ she said, and weakly she pushed him off.
He stood, uncertain in balance, gazing upon her. Sum-
moning all her strength she rose, the baby on one arm. By a
cruel effort of will, moving as if in sleep, she went across to
the scullery, where she bathed her eye for a minute in cold
water; but she was too dizzy. Afraid lest she should swoon,
she returned to her rocking-chair, trembling in every fibre.
By instinct, she kept the baby clasped.
Morel, bothered, had succeeded in pushing the drawer
back into its cavity, and was on his knees, groping, with
numb paws, for the scattered spoons.
Her brow was still bleeding. Presently Morel got up and
came craning his neck towards her.
‘What has it done to thee, lass?’ he asked, in a very
wretched, humble tone.
‘You can see what it’s done,’ she answered.
He stood, bending forward, supported on his hands,
which grasped his legs just above the knee. He peered to
look at the wound. She drew away from the thrust of his
face with its great moustache, averting her own face as
much as possible. As he looked at her, who was cold and
impassive as stone, with mouth shut tight, he sickened with
feebleness and hopelessness of spirit. He was turning drea-

Sons and Lovers