Winny's face was white under the gaslight.
She said nothing. She stood there looking out while he propped his bicycle up against the window sill.
He followed as she turned slowly and went through the passage to the back room.
"Kids asleep?"
"Yes. Fast."
She went to the dresser, and he helped her to take down the cups and plates and set the table for their supper. In all her movements there was a curious slowness and constraint, as if she were spinning time out, thread by thread. It was five-and-twenty past eight.
"Who's that for?" she asked as he laid a third place at the side.
"Well, I should think it was for you."
She started ever so slightly, and stared at the three plates, as if their number put her out in some intricate calculation.
"I must be going," she said.