Hotel, with a nice clean flowered wallpaper, and a very large looking-glass. Miriam appeared to be asleep, and her shoulders were humped up under the clothes in a shapeless, forbidding lump that Mr. Polly had found utterly loathsome for fifteen years. He went softly over to the dressing-table and surveyed himself thoughtfully. Presently he hitched up the trousers. “Miles too big for me,” he remarked. “Funny not to have a pair of breeches of one’s own. . . . Like being born again. Naked came I into the world. . . .”
Miriam stirred and rolled over, and stared at him.
“Hello!” she said.
“Hello.”
“Come to bed?”
“It’s three.”
Pause, while Mr. Polly disrobed slowly.
“I been thinking,” said Miriam, “It isn’t going to be so bad after all. We shall get your insurance. We can easy begin all over again.”
“H’m,” said Mr. Polly.
She turned her face away from him and reflected.
“Get a better house,” said Miriam, regarding the wallpaper pattern. “I’ve always ’ated them stairs.”
Mr. Polly removed a boot.
“Choose a better position where there’s more doing,” murmured Miriam. . . .
“Not half so bad,” she whispered. . . .
“You wanted stirring up,” she said, half asleep. . . .
