She sounded very determined, even vindictive. He sat in wonder, feeling uneasy, and vaguely miserable on her behalf. She sat extraordinarily still. She seemed like a voice only, a presence.

“Are you warm now?” he asked, half afraid.

“A bit warmer — but my feet!” She sounded pitiful.

“Let me warm them with my hands,” he asked her. “I’m hot enough.”

“No, thank you,” she said, coldly.

Then, in the darkness, she felt she had wounded him. He was writhing under her rebuff, for his offer had been pure kindness.

“They’re ‘appen dirty,” she said, half mocking.