Then she paid no more attention to him, but leaned her head upon her hand and began a regular moaning, as if she suffered some dull persistent pain.
Bob crept up to the wall and let himself sink there. He could not reflect for more than a minute or two continuously; his brain then became a mere confused whirl. In one of the intervals of his perfect consciousness he asked Mrs. Candy if Stephen would come here to-night. She did not heed him till he had twice repeated the question, and then she started and looked at him in wild fear.
“Will Stephen be coming?”
“Stephen? Yes, yes. I shouldn’t wonder.”
She seemed to fall asleep as soon as she had spoken; her head dropped heavily on the boards.
Not long after midnight the potman made his appearance. As always, on returning from his sixteen-hour day of work, he was all but insensible with fatigue. Entering the room, he turned his white face with an expression of stupid wonderment to the corner in which Bob lay. The latter raised himself to a sitting posture.
