‘They won’t. The door is shut, Amy is gone to bed, and all is quiet in our street. Won’t you—won’t you say something civil to me in return, Roger?’
Roger looks at him and away from him. ‘I sometimes—bragged about you at school.’
Mr. Torrance is absurdly pleased. ‘Did you? What sort of things, Roger?’
‘I—I forget.’
‘Come on, Roger.’
‘Is this fair, father?’
‘No, I suppose it isn’t.’ Mr. Torrance attacks the coals again. ‘You and your mother have lots of confidences, haven’t you?’
‘I tell her a good deal. Somehow——’
‘Yes, somehow one can.’ With the artfulness that comes of years, ‘I’m glad you tell her everything.’
Roger looks down his cigar. ‘Not everything, father. There are things—about oneself——’