He felt maddened, but helpless. Her
arm was round his waist, she drew him closely to her with a soft pressure
that made all his bones rotten.
Meanwhile Albert was waiting at home. He put on his overcoat, for the
fire was out, and he had had malarial fever. He looked fitfully at the
_Daily Mirror_ and the _Daily Sketch_, but he saw nothing. It seemed a
long time. He began to yawn widely, even to nod. At last Joe came in.
Albert looked at him keenly. The young man's brow was black, his face
sullen.
'All right, boy?' asked Albert.
Joe merely grunted for a reply. There was nothing more to be got out of
him. So they went to bed.
Next day Joe was silent, sullen. Albert could make nothing of him. He
proposed a walk after tea.
'I'm going somewhere,' said Joe.
'Where--Monkey nuts?' asked the corporal. But Joe's brow only became
darker.
So the days went by. Almost every evening Joe went off alone, returning
late. He was sullen, taciturn and had a hang-dog look, a curious way of
dropping his head and looking dangerously from under his brows. And he
and Albert did not get on so well any more with one another. For all his
fun and nonsense, Albert was really irritable, soon made angry. And Joe's
stand-offish sulkiness and complete lack of confidence riled him, got on
his nerves. His fun and nonsense took a biting, sarcastic turn, at which
Joe's eyes glittered occasionally, though the young man turned unheeding
aside.
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