Then he stood up, and remained with feet apart on the
hearthrug, his head ducked forward, watching the girl. He seemed
abstracted, as if he could only watch her. His great-coat hung open, so
that she could see his figure, simple and human in the great husk of
cloth. She stood nervously with her hands behind her, glancing at him,
unable to see anything else. And he was scarcely conscious but of her.
His eyes were still strained and staring, and as they followed the girl,
when, long-limbed and languid, she moved away, it was as if he saw in her
something impersonal, the female, not the woman.
'Had your dinner?' he asked.
'We were just going to have it,' she replied, with the same curious
little vibration in her voice, like the twang of a string.
The mother entered, bringing a saucepan from which she ladled soup into
three plates.
'Sit down, lad,' said Sutton. 'You sit down, Jack, an' give me mine
here.'
'Oh, aren't you coming to table?' she complained.
'No, I tell you,' he snarled, almost pretending to be disagreeable. But
she was slightly afraid even of the pretence, which pleased and relieved
him. He stood on the hearthrug eating his soup noisily.
'Aren't you going to take your coat off?' she said. 'It's filling the
place full of steam.'
He did not answer, but, with his head bent forward over the plate, he ate
his soup hastily, to get it done with. When he put down his empty plate,
she rose and went to him.
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