There was a moment's silence while he held her eyes with his. Then, very slowly and deliberately he got up, poured some boiling water into a pan and placed it, together with a ragged dishcloth, on the table.
"Are you going to wash up them things?"
"No."
She was still cool and smiling: only, her grip on the knob of the door had tightened until the nails of her fingers were white.
"Do you want me to make you?"
"How can you do that?"
"I'll soon show you."
She waited the fraction of a moment.
"I'll just get out those rugs, shall I? I think the holdall was put in here. I expect it gets very cold toward morning."
She had opened the door now and stepped across the threshold. Her face was still turned toward his, but her smile was a little fixed.