He lifted himself, kneeled beside her a moment, kissed the inner side of her thighs, then drew down her skirts, buttoning his own clothes unthinking, not even turning aside, in the faint, faint light from the lantern.
"Tha mun come ter th' cottage one time," he said, looking down at her with a warm, sure, easy face.
But she lay there inert, and was gazing up at him thinking. Stranger! Stranger! She even resented him a little.
He put on his coat and looked for his hat, which had fallen, then he slung on his gun.
"Come then!" he said, looking down at her with those warm, peaceful sort of eyes.
She rose slowly. She didn't want to go. She also rather resented staying. He helped her with her thin waterproof, and saw she was tidy.
Then he opened the door. The outside was quite dark. The faithful dog under the porch stood up with pleasure seeing him. The drizzle of rain drifted greyly past under the darkness. It was quite dark.
"Ah mun ta'e th' lantern," he said. "The'll be nob'dy."
He walked just before her in the narrow path, swinging the hurricane lamp low, revealing the wet grass, the black shiny tree roots like snakes, wan flowers. For the rest, all was grey rain-mist and complete darkness.
"Tha mun come to the cottage one time," he said, "shall ta? We might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."