came towards her, snarling: "Come out o' that and I'll learn yer manners, yer blarsted red 'ead!"
Slowly, with a fixed grin, May turned her face over her shoulder to him.
Albert's jaw dropped. He began to shake. "Wot's the matter, any'ow? I've gone balmy. Adar's body—an' M'y's 'ead! I've gone balmy orl right. Two in one—one in two—oh, s'y, can't you speak?"
May's hands shot out and clasped him to her. Her fuzzy hair was against his mouth.
"Don't yer be scared, Awbert"—she used his old pet name—"it's only M'y, come to get your supper. I knew Adar was orf to a funeral and I thought you'd be lonely like. I thought: 'Wot's the 'arm in my doin' for 'im just once like in the old d'ys?' An' I've bought a bit of a treat for us. An' I've scrubbed 'er tyble an' polished 'er lamp as weren't wot you'd call sparkling. Where's the 'arm in one little evening together?"
He rocked her blissfully in his arms, fear giving way to relief, to warm well-being, to sweet recollections of other nights together.
"'Arm! There's no 'arm at all. Oh, lovey, I needed yer tonight. I was that depressed—comin' 'ome to a empty 'ouse! Not but wot I'd about as soon come to an empty 'ouse as to 'er! Oh, M'y, wotever got me tangled up in this 'ere ruddy mess? Lovey, lovey—" he stroked her cheeks with his, pressing her to him.
"The saursages!" she cried. "I smell them burning! Quick, Awbert, let me go!"
She sprang to the oven and drew out the pan.
"Saursages for supper!" He loudly smacked his lips. "This is a bit of orl right! Wot does she give me for supper, can you guess? 'Otted-hup pertaters and apple-saurce. Apple-saurce and 'er saurce—that's wot I get?"
