“Oh, I suppose so! He telephoned and said he had these tickets. I suppose he thought it’d make up, in a way.”
They chose a corner table at the further end of the tea-shop, and Elsie took off her coat and leant against it as it lay folded over the back of her chair.
“Where did he hurt you this morning?” said Morrison intently.
She pulled up the loose sleeve of her silk jumper. “Look!”
Her smooth, soft arm was already discoloured all round the elbow and up to the shoulder.
“It’s worse higher up, only I can’t get at it now to show you.”
“Damn him!” Leslie Morrison muttered between his teeth.
His boyish face was black with an intensity of feeling that Elsie had seldom seen there of late. It sent a rush of joyful reassurance all through her.
“Darling, I don’t care about anything while we’ve got each other.”
“But it can’t go on, Elsie. He’s making your life miserable. Isn’t there any hope of a divorce, or even a separation?”