It
was raining now. The splashes of cool moisture made him aware how
feverishly hot his face was.
When he got among the familiar streets he went slinkingly, hurrying
round corners, avoiding glances. Almost at a run he turned into
Merlin Place, and he burst into his room as though he were pursued.
Pennyloaf had now but one child to look after, a girl of two years,
a feeble thing. Her own state was wretched; professedly recovered
from illness, she felt so weak, so low-spirited, that the greater
part of her day was spent in crying. The least exertion was too much
for her; but for frequent visits from Jane Snowdon she must have
perished for very lack of wholesome food. She was crying when
startled by her husband's entrance, and though she did her best to
hide the signs of it, Bob saw.
'When are you going to stop that?' he shouted.
She shrank away, looking at him with fear in her red eyes.
'Stop your snivelling, and get me some tea!'
It was only of late that Pennyloaf had come to regard him with fear.
His old indifference and occasional brutality of language had made
her life a misery, but she had never looked for his return home with
anything but anxious longing.
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