Two days after Christmas Paul was to go back to Nottingham. The evening before he sat with Dawes smoking before the fire.
“You know Clara’s coming down for the day tomorrow?” he said.
The other man glanced at him.
“Yes, you told me,” he replied.
Paul drank the remainder of his glass of whisky.
“I told the landlady your wife was coming,” he said.
“Did you?” said Dawes, shrinking, but almost leaving himself in the other’s hands. He got up rather stiffly, and reached for Morel’s glass.