There were piles of
newspapers heaped up against the shelves; books run to the ceiling,
old, old books with the covers tumbling off them. On the stone
mantelpiece was a perfect litter--old pipes, bundles of letters, a
ball of string, some yellow photographs, a crucifix and a small
plant dead and shrivelled in its pot.
"Now then, darling. Hurrah for some tea!"
She poured it out and he watched her in an ecstasy. Strangely she
began to be frightened and a little breathless, as though the walls
of the room were slowly closing in. The tea had been standing a long
time, it was very strong and chill.
The house was a firing-ground of rattle and whirs, but there were no
human sounds anywhere. There was dust all over the room.
They had said nothing for some time.
He spoke suddenly, his voice husky and awkward, as though he were
trying a new voice for the first time.
"Maggie!" he said. "Don't sit so far away. Come over here."
She crossed over to him. He, with an arm that seemed to be suddenly
of iron, pulled her on to his knee. She was rebellious. Her whole
body stiffened. She did not want this, she did not want this! Some
voice within cried out: "Take care! Take care!" .
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