sewing. Immediately the tea-things were
cleared away, she fetched out the stuff, and his soul rose in
rage. He hated beyond measure to hear the shriek of calico as
she tore the web sharply, as if with pleasure. And the run of
the sewing-machine gathered a frenzy in him at last.

"Aren't you going to stop that row?" he shouted. "Can't you
do it in the daytime?"

She looked up sharply, hostile from her work.

"No, I can't do it in the daytime. I have other things to do.
Besides, I like sewing, and you're not going to stop me doing
it."

Whereupon she turned back to her arranging, fixing,
stitching, his nerves jumped with anger as the sewing-machine
started and stuttered and buzzed.

But she was enjoying herself, she was triumphant and happy as
the darting needle danced ecstatically down a hem, drawing the
stuff along under its vivid stabbing, irresistibly. She made the
machine hum. She stopped it imperiously, her fingers were deft
and swift and mistress.

If he sat behind her stiff with impotent rage it only made a
trembling vividness come into her energy. On she worked. At last
he went to bed in a rage, and lay stiff, away from her. And she
turned her back on him. And in the morning they did not speak,
except in mere cold civilities.

And when he came home at night, his heart relenting and
growing hot for love of her, when he was just ready to feel he
had been wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same,
there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered
with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire.

She started up, affecting concern.

"Is it so late?" she cried.

But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to
the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her
heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea.

He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was
in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of
his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston,
and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not
want to see anybody.

He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the
station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he
had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk
familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if
he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a
book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was