`There is a light!' she said.
`I always leave a light in the house,' he said.
She went on again at his side, but not touching him, wondering why she was going with him at all.
He unlocked, and they went in, he bolting the door behind them. As if it were a prison, she thought! The kettle was singing by the red fire, there were cups on the table.
She sat in the wooden arm-chair by the fire. It was warm after the chill outside.
`I'll take off my shoes, they are wet,' she said.
She sat with her stockinged feet on the bright steel fender. He went to the pantry, bringing food: bread and butter and pressed tongue. She was warm: she took off her coat. He hung it on the door.
`Shall you have cocoa or tea or coffee to drink?' he asked.
`I don't think I want anything,' she said, looking at the table. `But you eat.'
`Nay, I don't care about it. I'll just feed the dog.'
He tramped with a quiet inevitability over the brick floor, putting food for the dog in a brown bowl. The spaniel looked up at him anxiously.
`Ay, this is thy supper, tha nedna look as if tha wouldna get it!' he said.
He set the bowl on the stairfoot mat, and sat himself on a chair by the wall, to take off his leggings and boots. The dog instead of eating, came to him again, and sat looking up at him, troubled.
He slowly unbuckled his leggings. The dog edged a little nearer.
`What's amiss wi' thee then? Art upset because there's somebody else here? Tha'rt a female, tha art! Go an' eat thy supper.'
He put his hand on her head, and the bitch leaned her head sideways against him. He slowly, softly pulled the long silky ear.
`There!' he said. `There! Go an' eat thy supper! Go!'
He tilted his chair towards the pot on the mat, and the dog meekly went, and fell to eating.
`Do you like dogs?' Connie asked him.
`No, not really. They're too tame and clinging.'
He had taken off his leggings and was unlacing his heavy boots. Connie had turned from the fire. How bare the little room was! Yet over his head on the wall hung a hideous enlarged photograph of a young married couple, apparently him and a bold-faced young woman, no doubt his wife.
`Is that you?' Connie asked him.
He twisted and looked at the enlargement above his head.
`Ay! Taken just afore we was married, when I was twenty-one.' He looked at it impassively.
`Do you like it?' Connie asked him.
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