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Miriam already began to suffer. They went together towards the
house. He took the clips off his trousers, but was too lazy to brush the
dust from his shoes, in spite of the socks and tie.
Clara sat in the cool parlour reading. He saw the nape of her white
neck, and the fine hair lifted from it. She rose, looking at him
indifferently. To shake hands she lifted her arm straight, in a
manner that seemed at once to keep him at a distance, and yet to fling
something to him. He noticed how her breasts swelled inside her blouse,
and how her shoulder curved handsomely under the thin muslin at the top
of her arm.
"You have chosen a fine day," he said.
"It happens so," she said.
"Yes," he said; "I am glad."
She sat down, not thanking him for his politeness.
"What have you been doing all morning?" asked Paul of Miriam.
"Well, you see," said Miriam, coughing huskily, "Clara only came with
father--and so--she's not been here very long."
Clara sat leaning on the table, holding aloof. He noticed her hands were
large, but well kept.


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