She slid away from him, and he stood up.
“And do you think I want it?” she said.
“I hope you don’t,” he replied. “But anyhow, you go to bed an’ I’ll sleep down here.”
She looked at him. He was pale, his brows were sullen, he was as distant in recoil as the cold pole. Men were all alike.
“I can’t go home till morning,” she said.
“No! Go to bed. It’s a quarter to one.”
“I certainly won’t,” she said.
He went across and picked up his boots.
“Then I’ll go out!” he said.
He began to put on his boots. She stared at him.
“Wait!” she faltered. “Wait! What’s come between us?”
He was bent over, lacing his boot, and did not reply. The moments passed. A dimness came over her, like a swoon. All her consciousness died, and she stood there wide-eyed, looking at him from the unknown, knowing nothing any more.
He looked up, because of the silence, and saw her wide-eyed and lost. And as if a wind tossed him he got up and hobbled over to her, one shoe off and one shoe on, and took her in his arms, pressing her against his body, which somehow felt hurt right through. And there he held her, and there she remained.
Till his hands reached blindly down and felt for her, and felt under the clothing to where she was smooth and warm.