The equanimity with which she had trained herself to receive John Fellows in such circumstances deserted her. She knew perfectly well that it was no use arguing with a drunken man, but the case of Abner was so exceptional that she began to do so. He took no notice of her, and then she rated him violently, so that overcome by a sudden flush of anger he took hold of her arms as if he were going to throw her down. He had never taken hold of her like that before. She faced him, panting for breath, and they stared into each other’s eyes. He felt the warmth of her arms through the sleeve of her bodice and realised her for the first time as a living, warm-blooded creature. She trembled under his gaze, but did not try to free herself. He felt that something like this had happened before; remembered Susan. Suddenly sobered, almost frightened, he relaxed his grip on her arms. Still she did not move. She stood dazed, with her breath coming and going. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said. He staggered to the foot of the stairs and left her standing there. When he had gone she pulled herself together and put her hands to her eyes as though she wanted to shut out what she had seen. She had forgotten her first resentment and the emotion with which she trembled now was one that frightened her and put her to shame. She felt that she had just experienced the most thrilling moment of her life. After that she could never pretend to herself that she was not in love with Abner. In the morning he woke early. Before Alice knew that he was astir he went downstairs in his stockinged feet and lit the kitchen fire. By the time that she herself appeared he had made himself a cup of tea and laid the table for breakfast. Neither of them spoke of his violent homecoming the night before or of the stranger scene that followed it. She had half expected that he would ask her pardon for what had happened, but such a proceeding didn’t seem to him important. He had been drunk, now he was sober, and that was the end of the matter. When breakfast was over he went out into the dank washhouse and shaved. She was puzzled to see that he was not going to work, for he had dressed in his Sunday clothes and wore his watch-chain, decorated with a couple of silver football medals. At last she plucked up courage to ask him if he was not going to Mawne. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I bain’t going there no more.’ ‘What’s up then?’ ‘Got the sack,’ he said laconically. ‘But the money . . .’ she said. ‘We’ve got to live.’ ‘I picked up two weeks’ pay last night. You can have what’s left.’ He turned out his pockets and gave her a handful of small change. ‘That’s more than I reckoned there’d be,’ he said. She threw down the money on the table and stared at him. ‘I owe more nor this!’ she said. ‘What about the football money?’ ‘Don’t talk to me about football,’ he said. ‘I’ve done with football as long as that Hudson’s on the committee.’