She seated herself as usual, and Sidney took his familiar
position, with the vacant chair opposite. Snowdon and he were
accustomed to smoke their pipes whilst conversing, but this evening
Sidney dispensed with tobacco.
It was very quiet here. On the floor below dwelt at present two
sisters who kept themselves alive (it is quite inaccurate to use any
other phrase in such instances) by doing all manner of skilful
needlework; they were middle-aged women, gentle-natured, and so
thoroughly subdued to the hopelessness of their lot that scarcely
ever could even their footfall be heard as they went up and down
stairs; their voices were always sunk to a soft murmur. Just now no
infant wailing came from the Byasses' regions. Kirkwood enjoyed a
sense of restfulness, intenser, perhaps, for the momentary
disappointment he had encountered. He had no desire to talk; enough
for a few minutes to sit and watch Jane's hand as it moved backwards
and forwards with the needle.
'I went to see Pennyloaf as I came back from work,' Jane said at
length, just looking up.
'Did you? Do things seem to be any better?'
'Not much, I'm afraid. Mr. Kirkwood, don't you think you might do
something? If you tried again with her husband?'
'The fact is,' replied Sidney, 'I'm so afraid of doing more harm
than good.
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