Love Among The Haystacks by D H Lawrence Chapter 4 Page 27

“Well — mine is — an’ I have a bath a’most every day,” he answered.

“I don’t know when they’ll get warm,” she moaned to herself.

“Well, then, put them in my hands.”

She heard him faintly rattling the match-box, and then a phosphorescent glare began to fume in his direction. Presently he was holding two smoking, blue-green blotches of light towards her feet. She was afraid. But her feet ached so, and the impulse drove her on, so she placed her soles lightly on the two blotches of smoke. His large hands clasped over her instep, warm and hard.

“They’re like ice!” he said, in deep concern.