"Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There's no sense in going
over there so late. You will never manage to get back to-night."
Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added heavily:
"Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. This is the sort
of news that can wait."
Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc's thoughts than going to her mother.
She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind her, she obeyed
the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. Her intention had been simply
to get outside the door for ever. And if this feeling was correct, its
mental form took an unrefined shape corresponding to her origin and
station. "I would rather walk the streets all the days of my life," she
thought. But this creature, whose moral nature had been subjected to a
shock of which, in the physical order, the most violent earthquake of
history could only be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of
mere trifles, of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat and veil
she had the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a
moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of only
temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little.
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