But he himself was anxious for a moment and stooped over George’s body, breathing heavily. ‘No. He’s all right,’ he said. ‘Just knocked out. I’ve been like that myself.’ ‘What can we do?’ she cried, staring at him with frightened eyes. ‘Leave him alone. He’ll come round.’ ‘I sent you a note by Gladys,’ she said inconsequently. ‘He met her and took it off her. I’d told you to keep away.’ ‘If I’d had it it would have made no difference. You can’t stop a thing like this. Get up and put your things on. I’ll keep an eye on him. Get the children dressed and all.’ She stared at him as though she couldn’t take in what he was saying. She was still holding one of George’s inanimate hands that she had clutched in her first anxiety. ‘Dress them, Abner? What do you mean?’ ‘It’s time we cleared. He won’t hurt.’ ‘But I couldn’t leave him like this!’ He took her arm. ‘Do what I tell you. Go on! The sooner we clear the better.’ ‘Abner, we can’t turn out in the middle of the night.’ ‘That’s all right. You won’t come to no harm. I’ll look after you.’ ‘Abner, I can’t!’ she wailed. ‘You don’t know what you’re asking.’ ‘It’s either go now or stay altogether. I can’t stop here. That’s clear enough. If you and me are going together we must go now.’ ‘Abner, my dear, I can’t face it. Not after this. Abner, I’m too frightened to move a step. And if he died . . .’ ‘I tell you he’s all right. He’ll come round sober. If I was to wait for that there’d be no end to it. It’d begin all over again.’ She gazed at him, anguished. ‘Abner, my love, I daren’t. Don’t you understand? They’ll follow us. They’re bound to. The police . . .’ ‘It’s no good thinking of that,’ he said. She began crying softly, there on the floor above the prostrate body. Her fingers mechanically stroked George’s hand. The action irritated Abner. He could not look at her. He took a cloth from the table and mopped the blood that was running into his eyes. He propped himself up with the table edge, for he was still giddy from George’s blow on his temple. A sudden vision came to him of another kitchen, another man lying on the floor, another woman crying. The room swam before him. He steadied himself and sank down into a chair. The sense of time left him. He could not be certain where he was or in what period of his life. A shrill singing noise was in his ears. Through it, distantly, he heard the clear tone of a clock striking eight; and this recalled him to life, to the room that he had lost in a blur of confused memories, to the sound of Mary’s sobbing. He remembered that he had been speaking, but could only repeat the last words that had left an echo in his memory: ‘It’s no good . . .’ ‘What?’ he heard her ask. ‘Wasting time over this. If you’re coming you must come now. Now or never.’ She neither moved nor answered him. He felt sorry for her: bent over her, pressed her to him. She turned her face away.