Clem, when she found that nothing definite could be
learned, and that her husband had no intention of leaving, expressed
her wish to walk round to Clerkenwell Close and see her mother.
Joseph approved.
'You'd better have dinner there,' he said to her privately. 'We
can't both of us come down on the Byasses.'
She nodded, and with a parting glance of hostile suspicion set
forth. When she had crossed City Road, Clem's foot was on her native
soil; she bore herself with conscious importance, hoping to meet
some acquaintance who would be impressed by her attire and
demeanour. Nothing of the kind happened, however. It was the dead
hour of Sunday morning, midway in service-time, and long before the
opening of public-houses. In the neighbourhood of those places of
refreshment were occasionally found small groups of men and boys,
standing with their hands in their pockets, dispirited, seldom
caring even to smoke; they kicked their heels against the kerbstone
and sighed for one o'clock. Clem went by them with a haughty balance
of her head.
As she entered by the open front door and began to descend the
kitchen steps, familiar sounds were audible.
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