She had to be at the lane-end at eight. Always, always, always this compulsion on one!
“I might make the breakfast and bring it up here; should I?” he said.
“Oh, yes!”
Flossie whimpered gently below. He got up and threw off his pyjamas, and rubbed himself with a towel. When the human being is full of courage and full of life, how beautiful it is! So she thought, as she watched him in silence.
“Draw the curtain, will you?”
The sun was shining already on the tender green leaves of morning, and the wood stood bluey-fresh, in the nearness. She sat up in bed, looking dreamily out through the dormer window, her naked arms pushing her naked breasts together. He was dressing himself. She was half-dreaming of life, a life together with him: just a life.
He was going, fleeing from her dangerous, crouching nakedness.
“Have I lost my nightie altogether?” she said.
He pushed his hand down in the bed, and pulled out the bit of flimsy silk.
“I knowed I felt silk at my ankles,” he said.
But the night dress was slit almost in two.
“Never mind!” she said. “It belongs here, really. I’ll leave it.”
“Ay, leave it, I can put it between my legs at night, for company. There’s no name nor mark on it, is there?”