The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd: A Drama in Three Acts

by D. H. Lawrence

Ay, and gone again before five.

BLACKMORE

But mine's a lad's job, and I do nothing!—Where's he gone?

MRS. HOLROYD (contemptuously)

Dunno! He'd got a game on somewhere—toffed himself up to the nines, and skedaddled off as brisk as a turkey-cock. (She smirks in front of the mirror hanging on the chimney-piece, in imitation of a man brushing his hair and moustache and admiring himself)

BLACKMORE

Though turkey-cocks aren't brisk as a rule. Children playing?

MRS. HOLROYD (recovering herself, coldly)

Yes. And they ought to be in. (She continues placing the flannel garments before the fire, on the fender and on chair-backs, till the stove is hedged in with a steaming fence; then she takes a sheet in a bundle from the table, and going up to Blackmore, who stands watching her, says) Here, take hold, and help me fold it.