Page 633 - sons-and-lovers

bring you back.’
‘Very well,’ she replied, low and husky.
They scarcely spoke while they were on the car. The Trent
ran dark and full under the bridge. Away towards Colwick
all was black night. He lived down Holme Road, on the
naked edge of the town, facing across the river meadows to-
wards Sneinton Hermitage and the steep scrap of Colwick
Wood. The floods were out. The silent water and the dark-
ness spread away on their left. Almost afraid, they hurried
along by the houses.
Supper was laid. He swung the curtain over the window.
There was a bowl of freesias and scarlet anemones on the
table. She bent to them. Still touching them with her finger-
tips, she looked up at him, saying:
‘Aren’t they beautiful?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What will you drink—coffee?’
‘I should like it,’ she said.
‘Then excuse me a moment.’
He went out to the kitchen.
Miriam took off her things and looked round. It was a
bare, severe room. Her photo, Clara’s, Annie’s, were on the
wall. She looked on the drawing-board to see what he was
doing. There were only a few meaningless lines. She looked
to see what books he was reading. Evidently just an ordi-
nary novel. The letters in the rack she saw were from Annie,
Arthur, and from some man or other she did not know. Ev-
erything he had touched, everything that was in the least
personal to him, she examined with lingering absorption.
He had been gone from her for so long, she wanted to redis-

Sons and Lovers