接下来的这个星期中，莫瑞尔的脾气简直让人不能忍受。像所有的矿工一样，他非常喜欢吃药。更令人奇怪的是，他常常自己掏腰包买药吃。
“你给我带一剂芳香酸。奇怪，家里竟然一口药也喝不上。”
于是，莫瑞尔太太给他买了他最喜欢喝的芳香酸，他给自己煮了一罐苦艾茶。阁楼上挂了成捆的干草药： 有苦艾、芸香、夏至草、接骨木花、芜萎菜、蜀葵草、牛膝草、蒲公英和矢车菊。平常炉边铁架子上总是放着一罐他要喝的药汁。
“好极了！”他说。喝完了苦艾茶之后咂着嘴唇 说。“好极了！”他还怂恿孩子们尝一尝。
“这比你们任何一种茶和可可都好喝。”他发誓说。但孩子们没有尝。
然而这次他得的是脑炎。无论药片、药酒，还是草药，都无法治好“他讨厌的头疼”。自从那次他和杰里去诺丁汉途中在野外睡了一觉后，他就一直不舒服。从那时起他就一直喝酒，发脾气，现在他觉得病入膏盲。莫瑞尔太太只好护理他这个最难侍候的病人。不管怎么样，她从来没有想让他去死。除去他能挣钱养家之外，她内心深处还是对他有一丝眷恋的。
邻居们对她也非常好，偶尔有人会叫孩子们去吃饭，有人替她干些楼下的家务活，也有人会照看一天婴儿。但不管怎么样，这个病也是个大累赘。邻居们也不是每天都来帮忙的。那样，她就得同时照顾小孩和丈夫。收拾屋子，做饭，什么都得干。她筋疲力尽。但她还是尽自己所能地干。
钱也只是刚够全家用度。她每星期从俱乐部里得到17先令。每个星期五，巴克和其他朋友们会均出来一份钱给莫瑞尔的妻子。而且，邻居们给她煮肉汤，给她鸡蛋，以及类似的零用品。如果这段时间没有他们的慷慨帮助，莫瑞尔太太只好借债，那会把她拖垮的。
八个星期过去了，几乎没有希望的莫瑞尔病情有了好转，他的体质很好。因此，一旦好 转，很快就会复原的。不久，他就能在楼下活动了。他生病期间，妻子有一点宠惯他。现在他希望她能继续那样，他常摸着脑袋，撇着嘴。装出头疼的样子。但这些骗不了她。起初她只是暗自好笑，后来就很不客气地骂他。
“上帝啊。别这样哭哭啼啼的！”
这有一点伤害他。但他仍继续装病。
“我不是一个好哄的小娃娃。”他的妻子简短地说。
为此，他生气了，像个孩子似的低声骂着。后来，他不得不恢复他的正常语调，不再嘀咕。
不过，家里这一段时间比较太平。莫瑞尔太太对他多了份容忍，为此他喜不自禁。而他像个孩子似的依赖她，他们俩彼此都没意识到，她对他的宽容是因为她对他的爱在渐渐消失。不管怎么样，在这之前，她的心目中，他仍是她的丈夫，仍是她的男人。她多少还有点同甘共苦的感觉，她的生活依靠着他。这种爱的凋零是潜移默化不易察觉的，但爱情毕竟在衰退。
随着第三个孩子的出生，她不再与他无谓地争执。对他的爱就像不会再涨的潮水离他而去。此后，她几乎不再想他了。而且离他远远的。不再觉得他是她生活中很重要的一部分，只是她周围环境的一部分。她不再计较他的言行，完全让他自生自灭。
接下来的这一年，他们之间的感情处于无可奈何，怅然若失的境地，就像人生的秋季。妻子抛弃了他。虽然感到有缺憾，但是还是毫不犹豫地抛弃了他，把爱情和生活都寄托在孩子身上。他象个无价值的苦壳。像许多男人一样，他或多或少接受了这种现象，把位置让给了孩子们。
在他恢复期间，俩人都曾努力重温他们的婚后头几个月的温情。实际上，他俩的情感已经烟消云散了。孩子们已经上了床后，他坐在家里，她在做衬衣，要做孩子们的衣服。每逢这时，他就给她念报，慢条斯理地读着，象一个人在扔铁环似的。她常催他快点，预先告诉他下面估计是什么字。而他总是谦恭地接过她的话继续往下读。
他们之间的沉默很特别，会听到她的针发出轻快的嗖嗖声。他吸烟时嘴唇发出的很响的“啪啪”声，还有他往火里吐唾沫时炉子冒热气的声音。于是，他开始想威廉，他已经是个大男孩子。在班里是拔萃的，老师说他是学校里最聪明的孩子。他想象他成为一个男子汉。年轻、充满活力。这给她的生活燃起了一缕希望之火。
莫瑞尔孤孤单单地坐在那儿， 没有什么可想的，隐隐感到不自在。他在内心盲目与她交流，或发现她已离他远去，他体验到空虚，内心深处一片空白，一片渺茫。他坐也不是，站也不是。不久，他在这种气氛中再呆不下去了，他的这种情绪也影响了他的妻子。他俩都觉得他们单独在一起时，连他们的呼吸都有一种压力。于是，他上床睡觉了。而她乐得独自一人，边干活，边思考，边消磨时间。
此时，另一个孩子出生了。这是当时正在疏远的父母在短暂的和平日子的结晶。这个小孩出生时，保罗才十七个月，是一个白白胖胖的小孩。有一双深蓝色的好奇的眼睛，微微皱着眉头。最小的这个孩子仍是个漂亮而健康的男孩。莫瑞尔太太知道自己怀孕后，感到非常为难。一方面由于经济原因，另一方面因为她不再爱她的丈夫了。不过，对孩子倒没什么可后悔的。
他们叫这个小孩亚瑟。 他很漂亮，满头金色的卷发。而且，生来就喜欢他的父亲。莫瑞尔太太对此很高兴，听到这个矿工的脚步声，孩子就会伸出小手摇摇摆摆地欢呼。如果莫瑞尔心情好，他就会立刻用热情、柔和的声音回答。
“怎么了，我的宝贝。我马上来。”
他一脱下工作服。莫瑞尔太太就会用围裙把孩子裹好。然后递给他爸爸。
有时候，父亲的吻和逗弄，给孩子脸上沾满煤灰。当她抱回孩子时，不禁惊呼：“小家伙成什么样子了！”这时，莫瑞尔就会开心地大笑。
“他是一个小矿工。上帝保佑这个小家伙。”他大声说。
当心里有着孩子和丈夫时，她仿佛觉得生活充满欢乐。
威廉长得更高更壮了，也更活泼了。而保罗十分文弱安静，愈加清瘦，如影子般地跟着妈妈。平时，他也好动，也对别的东西非常好奇，有时他意气消沉闷闷不乐。这时，母亲就会发现这个三、四岁的男孩在沙发上流泪。
“怎么啦？”她问。却没有回答。
“怎么啦？”她有点生气她追问着。
“不知道。”孩子抽咽地说。
母亲又哄又劝地安慰他，但没用，这让她忍无可忍。这时父亲总是不耐烦地从椅子上跳起来大喊：“他要再哭，我就打得他住口。”
“这不关你的事。”母亲冷冷地说。然后，把孩子领到园子里， 把他重重地放在椅子上，说：“现在哭吧，苦命的家伙。”
落在黄叶上的蝴蝶吸引了他，或者他自己哭着睡了。保罗的忧郁症不常发生，但在莫瑞尔太太心里投下了一块阴影。因此她在保罗身上操的心更多一些。
一天早晨，她朝河川区巷道张望着等待卖酵母的人。突然，她听到一个声音在喊她，原来是瘦小的安东尼太太，她穿着一身棕色丝绒衣服。
“嗨，莫瑞尔太太，我要给你说说威廉的事。”
“噢，是吗？”莫瑞尔太太回答。“怎么啦，发生了什么事？”
“他从后面抓住了我的孩子，撕了他的衣服。”安东尼太太说：“这还了得。”
“你家的阿尔弗雷德和威廉一样大呀。”莫瑞尔太太说。
“是一样大。但那也不能扭着别人的孩子，撕人家的衣服。”
“好。”莫瑞尔太太说：“ 我不会打孩子的。即使打他们，我也要让他们说明原因。”
“发生这样的事，应该好好教训他们一顿才是。”安东尼太太反驳道。
“我相信他不是故意的。”莫瑞尔太太说。
“你的意思是我在说谎？！”安东尼太太喊了起来。
莫瑞尔太太走了，把门也关上了。她端着杯酵母的手在发抖。
“我要告诉你当家的。”安东尼太太在身后喊道。
午饭时，威廉吃完饭又想走——他已经11岁了——他妈妈问话了。
“你为什么撕坏了阿尔弗雷德·安东尼的衣领？”
“我啥时撕了他的衣领？”
“我不知道啥时，他妈妈说你撕了。”
“噢——是昨天。那个领子早已破了。”
“但你把它撕得更破了。”
“是这样。 我的砸果，赢了他17个——于是阿尔弗雷德·安东尼就喊：‘亚当夏娃掐人精，河里去干坏事情，亚当夏娃淹死啦，猜猜是谁得救啦？’
我就说：‘好，掐你一下。’我就掐了他一下。他像疯子一样抢了我的“砸果”就跑了。我就在后面追，抓住了他的时候，他一躲，就把领子给撕破了，但我抢回了我的砸果……”
他从口袋里掏出用根绳子串上的七叶树果，黑色陈旧的老“砸果”——击碎了其它十七颗挂在同样绳子上的砸果，因此这个男孩对自己百战不败的功臣感到骄傲。
“得了，”莫瑞尔太太说：“你应该明白你不应该撕别人的领子。”
“唉，妈妈呀！他回答：“我不是故意那么做的——再说，那只是一个旧的橡胶领子，而且早就破了。”
“下次，”他妈妈说：“你应该小心些，如果你回家时领子也被撕破了， 我也会不高兴的。”
“我不在乎，妈妈，我不是有意撕的。”
小男孩子挨了训，表情很可怜。
“得了——你得加小心。”
威廉庆幸妈妈饶了他，飞也似地跑了。一向讨厌跟邻居闹纠葛的莫瑞尔太太，觉得她应该给安东尼太太解释一下，平息了这场风波。
但是，那天晚上，莫瑞尔从矿井回来，看上去怒气冲冲。他站在厨房里，四下瞅着，好几分钟没吭声，然后说：“威廉去哪儿了？”
“你找他干什么？”莫瑞尔太太心里揣测着问道。
“我找到他后，他就知道了，”莫瑞尔说着，“砰”地把他的井下喝水的瓶子摔在碗柜上。
“安东尼太太找你，胡扯阿尔弗雷德领子的事吧？”莫瑞尔太太冷笑着说。
“别管谁找 我。”莫瑞尔说：“我找到他，把他的骨头揍扁。”
“真滑稽，”莫瑞尔太太说：“你竟相信别人的胡扯，想和母老虎站在一起冤枉你儿子。”
“我要教训他，”莫瑞尔说：“我不管谁的孩子，他不能随便去撕别人的衣服。”
“随便撕别人的衣服！”莫瑞尔太太重复了一遍，“阿尔弗雷德抢走了他的‘砸果’，他就去追，无意中抓住了他的领子，那个孩子一躲闪——安东尼家的孩子都会这么做。”
“我知道！”莫瑞尔恐吓地喝道。
“你知道，别人告诉你之前，你就知道。”他的妻子挖苦地回敬道。
“你别管，”莫瑞尔咆哮着，“我知道该怎么办。”
“可不一定，”莫瑞尔太太说：“假如有的长舌妇挑拨你去打你的儿子怎么办？”
“我知道。”莫瑞尔重复。
他不再说话，坐在那里生闷气。突然间，威廉跑了进来，说道：“妈妈，我可以吃茶点吗？”
“我让你吃个够！”莫瑞尔太太说：“ 看你丑态百出的样子。”
“我如果不收拾他，他岂止丑态百出。”莫瑞尔从椅子上站起身，瞪着儿子。
在威廉的这个年龄，他算是身材够高大的了，但他非常敏感，这时已脸色苍白，惶恐地看着父亲。
“ 出去！”莫瑞尔太太命令儿子。
威廉傻傻地没动。突然，莫瑞尔捏起拳头，弯下腰。
“我要凑他‘出去’！”他像失去理智似地喊。
“什么！”莫瑞尔太太喊道，气得呼呼地喘：“你不能只听她的话就打他，你不能！”
“我不能？”莫瑞尔喊着，“我不能？”
他瞪着孩子，向前冲去，莫瑞尔太太跳起身来拦在他们中间，举着拳头。
“你敢！”她大喊。
“什么？”他喊道，愣了一会，“什么？”
她转过身来对着儿子。
“出去！”她生气地命令 他。
男孩好象中了她的魔法似的，突然转身跑了。莫瑞尔冲到门口，但已晚了。他转回身来，尽管他的脸满是煤灰，仍然气得发白。但现在他的妻子更是怒火冲天。
“你敢！”她声音响亮地说：“你敢碰这个孩子一指头，老爷，我让你后悔一辈子。”
他害怕她，只好生气地坐下。
孩子们长大了，不再让人操心。莫瑞尔太太参加了妇女协会。这个协会是附属于批发合作社的小型妇女俱乐部，协会每星期一晚上在贝斯伍德合作社的杂货铺楼上的一间长屋里聚会，妇女可以在那里讨论合作社的好处和其他一些社会问题。 有时候，莫瑞尔太太也 看看报。孩子们每每惊奇地看到整天忙着家务的妈妈坐着时而奋笔疾书，时而凝神沉思，时而批阅书册，然后继续书写，不禁对母亲怀有深深的敬意。
"You mun get me a drop o' laxy vitral," he said. "It's awinder as we canna ha'e a sup i' th' 'ouse."
So Mrs. Morel bought him elixir of vitriol, his favouritefirst medicine. And he made himself a jug of wormwood tea. He hadhanging in the attic great bunches of dried herbs:wormwood, rue, horehound, elder flowers, parsley-purt,marshmallow, hyssop, dandelion, and centaury. Usually there was a jug ofone or other decoction standing on the hob, from which he drank largely.
"Grand!" he said, smacking his lips after wormwood. "Grand!" And he exhorted the children to try.
"It's better than any of your tea or your cocoa stews," he vowed. But they were not to be tempted.
This time, however, neither pills nor vitriol nor all his herbswould shift the "nasty peens in his head". He was sickening for anattack of an inflammation of the brain. He had never been well sincehis sleeping on the ground when he went with Jerry to Nottingham. Since then he had drunk and stormed. Now he fell seriously ill,and Mrs. Morel had him to nurse. He was one of the worstpatients imaginable. But, in spite of all, and putting aside thefact that he was breadwinner, she never quite wanted him to die. Still there was one part of her wanted him for herself.
The neighbours were very good to her: occasionally somehad the children in to meals, occasionally some would do thedownstairs work for her, one would mind the baby for a day. But it was a great drag, nevertheless. It was not every daythe neighbours helped. Then she had nursing of baby and husband,cleaning and cooking, everything to do. She was quite worn out,but she did what was wanted of her.
And the money was just sufficient. She had seventeenshillings a week from clubs, and every Friday Barker and the otherbutty put by a portion of the stall's profits for Morel's wife. And the neighbours made broths, and gave eggs, and such invalids'trifles. If they had not helped her so generously in those times,Mrs. Morel would never have pulled through, without incurringdebts that would have dragged her down.
The weeks passed. Morel, almost against hope, grew better. He had a fine constitution, so that, once on the mend, he went straightforward to recovery. Soon he was pottering about downstairs. During his illness his wife had spoilt him a little. Now he wantedher to continue. He often put his band to his head, pulled downthe comers of his mouth, and shammed pains he did not feel. But there was no deceiving her. At first she merely smiled to herself. Then she scolded him sharply.
"Goodness, man, don't be so lachrymose."
That wounded him slightly, but still he continued to feign sickness.
"I wouldn't be such a mardy baby," said the wife shortly.
Then he was indignant, and cursed under his breath, like a boy. He was forced to resume a normal tone, and to cease to whine.
Nevertheless, there was a state of peace in the house for some time. Mrs. Morel was more tolerant of him, and he, depending on her almostlike a child, was rather happy. Neither knew that she was more tolerantbecause she loved him less. Up till this time, in spite of all,he had been her husband and her man. She had felt that, more or less,what he did to himself he did to her. Her living depended on him. There were many, many stages in the ebbing of her love for him,but it was always ebbing.
Now, with the birth of this third baby, her self no longer settowards him, helplessly, but was like a tide that scarcely rose,standing off from him. After this she scarcely desired him. And, standing more aloof from him, not feeling him so much partof herself, but merely part of her circumstances, she did not mindso much what he did, could leave him alone.
There was the halt, the wistfulness about the ensuing year,which is like autumn in a man's life. His wife was casting him off,half regretfully, but relentlessly; casting him off and turningnow for love and life to the children. Henceforward he was moreor less a husk. And he himself acquiesced, as so many men do,yielding their place to their children.
During his recuperation, when it was really over between them,both made an effort to come back somewhat to the old relationshipof the first months of their marriage. He sat at home and,when the children were in bed, and she was sewing--she did all hersewing by hand, made all shirts and children's clothing--he wouldread to her from the newspaper, slowly pronouncing and deliveringthe words like a man pitching quoits. Often she hurried him on,giving him a phrase in anticipation. And then he took her words humbly.
The silences between them were peculiar. There would bethe swift, slight "cluck" of her needle, the sharp "pop" of hislips as he let out the smoke, the warmth, the sizzle on the barsas he spat in the fire. Then her thoughts turned to William. Already he was getting a big boy. Already he was top of the class,and the master said he was the smartest lad in the school. She saw him a man, young, full of vigour, making the world glowagain for her.
And Morel sitting there, quite alone, and having nothingto think about, would be feeling vaguely uncomfortable. His soulwould reach out in its blind way to her and find her gone. He felt a sort of emptiness, almost like a vacuum in his soul. He was unsettled and restless. Soon he could not live inthat atmosphere, and he affected his wife. Both felt an oppressionon their breathing when they were left together for some time. Then he went to bed and she settled down to enjoy herself alone,working, thinking, living.
Meanwhile another infant was coming, fruit of this little peaceand tenderness between the separating parents. Paul was seventeenmonths old when the new baby was born. He was then a plump,pale child, quiet, with heavy blue eyes, and still the peculiarslight knitting of the brows. The last child was also a boy,fair and bonny. Mrs. Morel was sorry when she knew she was with child,both for economic reasons and because she did not love her husband;but not for the sake of the infant.
They called the baby Arthur. He was very pretty, with amop of gold curls, and he loved his father from the first. Mrs. Morel was glad this child loved the father. Hearing theminer's footsteps, the baby would put up his arms and crow. And if Morel were in a good temper, he called back immediately,in his hearty, mellow voice:
"What then, my beauty? I sh'll come to thee in a minute."
And as soon as he had taken off his pit-coat, Mrs. Morel wouldput an apron round the child, and give him to his father.
"What a sight the lad looks!" she would exclaim sometimes,taking back the baby, that was smutted on the face from his father'skisses and play. Then Morel laughed joyfully.
"He's a little collier, bless his bit o' mutton!" he exclaimed.
And these were the happy moments of her life now, when thechildren included the father in her heart.
Meanwhile William grew bigger and stronger and more active,while Paul, always rather delicate and quiet, got slimmer,and trotted after his mother like her shadow. He was usually activeand interested, but sometimes he would have fits of depression. Then the mother would find the boy of three or four crying onthe sofa.
"What's the matter?" she asked, and got no answer.
"What's the matter?" she insisted, getting cross.
"I don't know," sobbed the child.
So she tried to reason him out of it, or to amuse him,but without effect. It made her feel beside herself. Then the father,always impatient, would jump from his chair and shout:
"If he doesn't stop, I'll smack him till he does."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," said the mother coldly. And then she carried the child into the yard, plumped him into hislittle chair, and said: "Now cry there, Misery!"
And then a butterfly on the rhubarb-leaves perhaps caught his eye,or at last he cried himself to sleep. These fits were not often,but they caused a shadow in Mrs. Morel's heart, and her treatmentof Paul was different from that of the other children.
Suddenly one morning as she was looking down the alleyof the Bottoms for the barm-man, she heard a voice calling her. It was the thin little Mrs. Anthony in brown velvet.
"Here, Mrs. Morel, I want to tell you about your Willie."
"Oh, do you?" replied Mrs. Morel. "Why, what's the matter?"
"A lad as gets 'old of another an' rips his clothes off'n'is back," Mrs. Anthony said, "wants showing something."
"Your Alfred's as old as my William," said Mrs. Morel.
"'Appen 'e is, but that doesn't give him a right to get holdof the boy's collar, an' fair rip it clean off his back."
"Well," said Mrs. Morel, "I don't thrash my children,and even if I did, I should want to hear their side of the tale."
"They'd happen be a bit better if they did get a good hiding,"retorted Mrs. Anthony. "When it comes ter rippin' a lad's cleancollar off'n 'is back a-purpose---"
"I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose," said Mrs. Morel.
"Make me a liar!" shouted Mrs. Anthony.
Mrs. Morel moved away and closed her gate. Her hand trembledas she held her mug of barm.
"But I s'll let your mester know," Mrs. Anthony cried after her.
At dinner-time, when William had finished his meal and wantedto be off again--he was then eleven years old--his mother said to him:
"What did you tear Alfred Anthony's collar for?"
"When did I tear his collar?"
"I don't know when, but his mother says you did."
"Why--it was yesterday--an' it was torn a'ready."
"But you tore it more."
"Well, I'd got a cobbler as 'ad licked seventeen--an'Alfy Ant'ny 'e says:
'Adam an' Eve an' pinch-me, Went down to a river to bade. Adam an' Eve got drownded, Who do yer think got saved?'
An' so I says: 'Oh, Pinch-YOU,' an' so I pinched 'im, an''e was mad, an' so he snatched my cobbler an' run off with it. An' so I run after 'im, an' when I was gettin' hold of 'im,'e dodged, an' it ripped 'is collar. But I got my cobbler---"
He pulled from his pocket a black old horse-chestnut hanging ona string. This old cobbler had "cobbled"--hit and smashed--seventeenother cobblers on similar strings. So the boy was proud of his veteran.
"Well," said Mrs. Morel, "you know you've got no right to riphis collar."
"Well, our mother!" he answered. "I never meant tr'a done it--an'it was on'y an old indirrubber collar as was torn a'ready."
"Next time," said his mother, "YOU be more careful. I shouldn't like it if you came home with your collar torn off."
"I don't care, our mother; I never did it a-purpose."
The boy was rather miserable at being reprimanded.
"No--well, you be more careful."
William fled away, glad to be exonerated. And Mrs. Morel,who hated any bother with the neighbours, thought she would explainto Mrs. Anthony, and the business would be over.
But that evening Morel came in from the pit looking very sour. He stood in the kitchen and glared round, but did not speak forsome minutes. Then:
"Wheer's that Willy?" he asked.
"What do you want HIM for?" asked Mrs. Morel, who had guessed.
"I'll let 'im know when I get him," said Morel, banging hispit-bottle on to the dresser.
"I suppose Mrs. Anthony's got hold of you and been yarningto you about Alfy's collar," said Mrs. Morel, rather sneering.
"Niver mind who's got hold of me," said Morel. "When I gethold of 'IM I'll make his bones rattle."
"It's a poor tale," said Mrs. Morel, "that you're so readyto side with any snipey vixen who likes to come telling talesagainst your own children."
"I'll learn 'im!" said Morel. "It none matters to me whoselad 'e is; 'e's none goin' rippin' an' tearin' about just as he'sa mind."
"'Ripping and tearing about!'" repeated Mrs. Morel. "He was running after that Alfy, who'd taken his cobbler, and heaccidentally got hold of his collar, because the other dodged--asan Anthony would."
"I know!" shouted Morel threateningly.
"You would, before you're told," replied his wife bitingly.
"Niver you mind," stormed Morel. "I know my business."
"That's more than doubtful," said Mrs. Morel, "supposing someloud-mouthed creature had been getting you to thrash your own children."
"I know," repeated Morel.
And he said no more, but sat and nursed his bad temper. Suddenly William ran in, saying:
"Can I have my tea, mother?"
"Tha can ha'e more than that!" shouted Morel.
"Hold your noise, man," said Mrs. Morel; "and don't lookso ridiculous."
"He'll look ridiculous before I've done wi' him!" shouted Morel,rising from his chair and glaring at his son.
William, who was a tall lad for his years, but very sensitive,had gone pale, and was looking in a sort of horror at his father.
"Go out!" Mrs. Morel commanded her son.
William had not the wit to move. Suddenly Morel clenchedhis fist, and crouched.
"I'll GI'E him 'go out'!" he shouted like an insane thing.
"What!" cried Mrs. Morel, panting with rage. "You shallnot touch him for HER telling, you shall not!"
"Shonna I?" shouted Morel. "Shonna I?"
And, glaring at the boy, he ran forward. Mrs. Morel sprangin between them, with her fist lifted.
"Don't you DARE!" she cried.
"What!" he shouted, baffled for the moment. "What!"
She spun round to her son.
"GO out of the house!" she commanded him in fury.
The boy, as if hypnotised by her, turned suddenly and was gone. Morel rushed to the door, but was too late. He returned, pale underhis pit-dirt with fury. But now his wife was fully roused.
"Only dare!" she said in a loud, ringing voice. "Only dare,milord, to lay a finger on that child! You'll regret it for ever."
He was afraid of her. In a towering rage, he sat down.
When the children were old enough to be left, Mrs. Moreljoined the Women's Guild. It was a little club of women attachedto the Co-operative Wholesale Society, which met on Monday nightin the long room over the grocery shop of the Bestwood "Co-op". Thewomen were supposed to discuss the benefits to be derived fromco-operation, and other social questions. Sometimes Mrs. Morelread a paper. It seemed queer to the children to see their mother,who was always busy about the house, sitting writing in herrapid fashion, thinking, referring to books, and writing again. They felt for her on such occasions the deepest respect.
| 左右关联 | |
|
|
|
