He picked the child up and carried her to her cot, telling her that she must be a good girl and go to sleep. Morgan was sitting up with his fingers in his eyes, crying mechanically. ‘You look after our Morgan till mam comes,’ he told her.
He came down into the kitchen.
‘Mary . . .’ he said.
She did not answer. He went to her and put his arms round her neck.
‘Good-bye, lass,’ he said.
Her sobbing increased, but she would not raise her head. He wanted to pick her up in his arms as he had picked up Gladys, to carry her away with him; but he knew it was useless. He kissed her again, then rose and went to the door, closing it softly behind him. The cold air revived him. He drew it gratefully into his lungs. He was conscious of a strange physical lightening, as though a material load had slipped from his shoulders.
The Twenty-Fifth Chapter
Behind him Wolfpits lay brooding in the moonlight on its departed life. He did not turn to look at it, and in half an hour had reached the main road. He did not know where he was going, but turned mechanically toward the east, the quarter from which he had first entered the hills. At present it was not in him to strike out a way for himself; he could do no more than retrace his steps. He walked fast, impelled by an unconscious energy, and all the time one dominant thought possessed his brain. ‘Curse women! Curse all women! Curse the bloody lot of them!’
He passed through Chapel Green and Mainstone, dead villages both. Not a light in their windows. As dead as Wolfpits. The poplar under which he had trysted with Susie hung above him. The moonlight broke in ripples on its lofty crown. He saw nothing at all, heard nothing but the steady rhythm of his feet and the monotonous burden of words in his brain. The moon sank. Now the road was only faintly luminous with the reflected pallor of the sky. He heard a new noise behind him, and the lamps of a motor-car swept a slanting beam that carried his shadow into the hedge. The noise of the engine became distinct. A top-heavy van loomed up above the two blinding eyes of the headlights. He stood aside to let it pass; but as its roar overtook him, his own voice gave a hail that was swept along in the draught. He did not know why he had shouted, but a second later the car pulled up with grinding brakes, striking sparks of fire from the road. He ran after it.
‘What’s up?’ the driver called.