“Not very,” Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder. By a great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth. “I’ll have you laid up on my hands,” she said, with genuine uneasiness. “I don’t think so,” remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily. He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold between seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc looked at his bowed back. “Where have you been to-day?” she asked. “Nowhere,” answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His attitude suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer became painfully apparent in the dead silence of the room. He snuffled apologetically, and added: “I’ve been to the bank.” Mrs Verloc became attentive. “You have!” she said dispassionately. “What for?” Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked unwillingness. “Draw the money out!” “What do you mean? All of it?” “Yes. All of it.” Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two knives and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in her methodical proceedings. “What did you do that for?” “May want it soon,” snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to the end of his calculated indiscretions. “I don’t know what you mean,” remarked his wife in a tone perfectly casual, but standing stock still between the table and the cupboard. “You know you can trust me,” Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with hoarse feeling. Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with deliberation: “Oh yes. I can trust you.” And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two plates, got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between the table and the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. On the point of taking out the jam, she reflected practically: “He will be feeling hungry, having been away all day,” and she returned to the cupboard once more to get the cold beef. She set it under the purring gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motionless husband hugging the fire, she went (down two steps) into the kitchen. It was only when coming back, carving knife and fork in hand, that she spoke again. “If I hadn’t trusted you I wouldn’t have married you.” Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands, seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called out in an undertone: “Adolf.” Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down at the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving knife, placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold beef. He remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on his breast. “You should feed your cold,” Mrs Verloc said dogmatically.