“I say, Cora…” he began, and then hesitated.
She glanced up sharply. “If you’re going to talk about last night, you’d better skip it. I’m in no mood to go over that business now.”
George scratched his head, embarrassed. “Well, all right,” he said; “but hang it all, Cora, I think you ought to explain. I mean I— well, look at me. And then, you’ve been hurt too. I think I ought to be told. What I mean to say is—”
“Oh, shut up!” Cora said, shifting her body in the chair “We’ll talk about that later. Suppose I was tight? No one’s going to leer at me all the evening without a come-back. And no one’s getting tough with me without damn well paying for it! Now, shut up, George!”
Baffled, George’s gaze wandered round the room. Then he had an idea. “Where are your clothes, Cora?”
“In the bedroom. Why?”
“I’ll wash them for you. They’d look quite smart. I’m a hit of a dab at that kind of thing.”
She lifted her shoulders helplessly, closed her eyes and didn’t say anything.
He went into the bedroom and collected the sweater and slacks. He found an unopened packet of Lux in the kitchen and he shut himself in the bathroom.
When he had hung the garments out of the back window to dry in the sun, he returned to the sitting-room. She was still there, a cigarette dangling from her lips, her eyes brooding.