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‘No, dear, thank you,’ she said, ‘I’ll just go straight up and it will be better in the morning.’

‘Just as you like,’ said Mr Marble.

Mrs Marble moved across to Medland.

‘Good night, er—Jim,’ she said, shaking hands.

‘Good night. I hope it will really be better to-morrow.’

‘Good night, dear,’ said Mr Marble, ‘I won’t disturb you when I come up if I can help it. I expect I shall be a bit late.’

He pecked her on her cold cheek—a typical marital kiss. But Mr Marble was not in the habit of kissing his wife good night at all, and he never worried in the least about disturbing her when he came to bed. However, it gave the scene that calm domestic atmosphere that Mr Marble’s subconscious mind, which had him in full control, had decided was necessary to the occasion.

Mrs Marble had gone, and they heard the dragging steps on the floor of the room above.

‘No need for hurry, I suppose, seeing that you’re a gay young bachelor,’ said Mr Marble.

‘None at all,’ replied Medland, and regretted saying it the instant it was said. He had really no desire to go on being bored for a further interminable period. But his answer had committed him to another half-hour at the very least, and he endeavoured to reconcile himself to it.

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