‘Hark, ’e’s coming round,’ said Abner.
‘An’ I never done nothing! . . . nothing!’
‘You’d better look to the babby.’
‘Poor lamb! Nothing, I never done, Abner . . .’
‘I know you done nothing. You don’t take no notice what a man says when ’e’s boozed. You look to the kid, while I get my clothes on.’
‘Yo’ bain’t goin’ to dress?’ She picked up the alarm clock that Fellows had knocked down from the mantelpiece. It was still going, with a harsh metallic click. ‘It’s not two o’clock yet.’
But he had gone. Left alone she glanced fearfully at the form of her husband. For a moment he lay quite still. Then he shuddered, rolled over and began to snore. The baby was still wailing upstairs. If only John Fellows had been dead! But that would have been murder. What was Abner doing? She could not live without Abner. She went upstairs to his room and tapped at the door. Candlelight glinted through cracks in the boards. He answered angrily, she thought, but she came in.
‘What are you doing now?’ she whispered.
‘Putting two-three things together.’
‘What’s up now?’