spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two knives
and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in her
methodical proceedings.

"What did you do that for?"

"May want it soon," snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to the end
of his calculated indiscretions.

"I don't know what you mean," remarked his wife in a tone perfectly
casual, but standing stock still between the table and the cupboard.

"You know you can trust me," Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with hoarse
feeling.

Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with deliberation:

"Oh yes. I can trust you."

And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two plates,
got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between the table and
the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. On the point of
taking out the jam, she reflected practically: "He will be feeling
hungry, having been away all day," and she returned to the cupboard once
more to get the cold beef. She set it under the purring gas-jet, and
with a passing glance at her motionless husband hugging the fire, she
went (down two steps) into the kitchen. It was only when coming back,
carving knife and fork in hand, that she spoke again.

"If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have married you."

Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands,
seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called out in an
undertone:

"Adolf."

Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down at
the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving knife,
placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold beef. He
remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on his breast.

"You should feed your cold," Mrs Verloc said dogmatically.

He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his face
red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated untidiness.
Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive of the discomfort,
the irritation and the gloom following a heavy debauch. But Mr Verloc
was not a debauched man. In his conduct he was respectable. His
appearance might have been the effect of a feverish cold. He drank three
cups of tea, but abstained from food entirely. He recoiled from it with
sombre aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc, who said at last:

"Aren't your feet wet? You had better put on your slippers. You aren't
going out any more this