gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her glance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow.

That do? he asked, turning.

She was reading the card, propped on her elbow.

She got the things, she said.

He waited till she had laid the card aside and curled herself back slowly with a snug sigh.

Hurry up with that tea, she said. I’m parched.

The kettle is boiling, he said.

But he delayed to clear the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen: and lifted all in an armful on to the foot of the bed.

As he went down the kitchen stairs she called: