By the absence of his resonant snoring she knew he
was not sleeping, either. She pictured him lying there, his eyes
on the door, in almost unwinking espionage.
At half past six she got up and went down-stairs. Almost immediately
she heard his stockinged feet behind her. She turned and looked up
at him.
"What are you going to do?"
"Going to make myself some coffee."
He came down, and sat down in the sitting-room. From where he sat
he could survey the kitchen, and she knew his eyes were on her.
His very quiet terrified her, but although the strap lay on the
table he made no move toward it. She built a fire and put on the
kettle, and after a time she brought him some coffee and some
bread. He took it without a word. Sick as she was, she fell to
cleaning up the dirty kitchen. She went outside for a pail, to
find him behind her in the doorway. Then she knew what he intended
to do. He was afraid, for some reason, to beat her again, but he
was going to watch her lest again she make her escape.
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