... Would Frank never stop eating pudding? apple suet pudding—two helpings already, and now a third. Frank did it on purpose—fiendishly—he knew Richard was mad to get up and out of the cramped cramping space....
“Coffee in the sitting-room, I think,” Mrs Dunne proposed at last; “such a pity it’s raining, or we might have sat outside.”
They all moved together, glucose in conviviality, towards the room which held the portrait of Commander Dunne. Greville, in his simple, eager way was explaining some aviation technicality to Doctor Greyson, who listened respectfully.
“These youngsters—they’re showing us all the way!” he smiled at Frank in his blue and gold, at Molly wearing her Girl Guide uniform—his eye swept over Richard blankly—he knew then? They had told him, or he must have remarked on all that square muscularity clothed in mufti.... Voices like persistent wasps ... the pursuing threat was in the room with him now ... it was always worst in here ... with the picture of Commander Antony Dunne. What was the Doctor saying? something about the German prisoners employed to work on a farm in the neighbourhood ... but that was part of the plot, to goad him into his declaration—to lead the talk that way ... part of the plot....
“They’re lazy swine, you know; won’t do a stroke of work when the overseer’s back is turned——”
“Why should they?” demanded Richard.
The wasp-drone hushed now; faces all turned towards him, curious to hear—the plot was working as anticipated.
Fool! why had he spoken? ... that cursed new trick of seeing things all round and from the other side. But he went on, doggedly: “Do you suppose that if I were an English prisoner in Germany that I’d do one more stroke of work on their damned alien soil than would be forced out of me?”
Molly and Frank exchanged a quick look. And Greville frowned uneasily. Then Dr Greyson said, with perfect courtesy: “It’s rather difficult, I imagine, for anyone who is not entirely one of us to appreciate our point of view. For you’re not quite English, are you, Mr Marcus?”