He did not look at her, but he smiled with the lower part of his face, putting his head aside in an odd gesture of assent. His eyes were unchanging, glazed with darkness.

‘Cawsts something to change your mind,’ he said, in an incredibly low accent.

‘Only ten shillings this time,’ said Birkin.

The man looked up at him with a grimace of a smile, furtive, unsure.

‘Cheap at ‘arf a quid, guvnor,’ he said. ‘Not like getting divawced.’

‘We’re not married yet,’ said Birkin.

‘No, no more aren’t we,’ said the young woman loudly. ‘But we shall be, a Saturday.’