She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes. Smiling, the Chinaman gave the correct pronunciation. “Dear husband,” she murmured.
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