hisgreat，palecheekshunglikefilledpouches，motionless，withoutaquiver;butinhisblueeyes，narrowedasifpeering，therewasthesamelookofconfidentshrewdness，alittlecrazyinitsfixity，theymusthavehadwhiletheindomitableoptimistsatthinkingatnightinhiscell。Beforehim，KarlYundtremainedstanding，onewingofhisfadedgreenishhavelockthrownbackcavalierlyoverhisshoulder。Seatedinfrontofthefireplace，ComradeOssipon，ex—medicalstudent，theprincipalwriteroftheF。P。leaflets，stretchedouthisrobustlegs，keepingthesolesofhisbootsturneduptotheglowinthegrate。Abushofcrinklyyellowhairtoppedhisred，freckledface，withaflattenednoseandprominentmouthcastintheroughmouldoftheNegrotype。Hisalmond—shapedeyesleeredlanguidlyoverthehighcheek—bones。Heworeagreyflannelshirt，thelooseendsofablacksilktiehungdownthebuttonedbreastofhissergecoat;andhisheadrestingonthebackofhischair，histhroatlargelyexposed，heraisedtohislipsacigaretteinalongwoodentube，puffingjetsofsmokestraightupattheceiling。
　　Michaelispursuedhisidea—theideaofhissolitaryreclusion—thethoughtvouchsafedtohiscaptivityandgrowinglikeafaithrevealedinvisions。Hetalkedtohimself，indifferenttothesympathyorhostilityofhishearers，indifferentindeedtotheirpresence，fromthehabithehadacquiredofthinkingaloudhopefullyinthesolitudeofthefourwhitewashedwallsofhiscell，inthesepulchralsilenceofthegreatblindpileofbricksnearariver，sinisteranduglylikeacolossalmortuaryforthesociallydrowned。
　　Hewasnogoodindiscussion，notbecauseanyamountofargumentcouldshakehisfaith，butbecausethemerefactofhearinganothervoicedisconcertedhimpainfully，confusinghisthoughtsatonce—thesethoughtsthatforsomanyyears，inamentalsolitudemorebarrenthanawaterlessdesert，nolivingvoicehadevercombated，commented，orapproved。
　　Nooneinterruptedhimnow，andhemadeagaintheconfessionofhisfaith，masteringhimirresistibleandcompletelikeanactofgrace:thesecretoffatediscoveredinthematerialsideoflife;theeconomicconditionoftheworldresponsibleforthepastandshapingthefuture;thesourceofallideas，guidingthementaldevelopmentofmankindandtheveryimpulsesoftheirpassion——
　　AharshlaughfromComradeOssiponcutthetiradedeadshortinasuddenfalteringofthetongueandabewilderedunsteadinessoftheapostle’smildlyexaltedeyes。Heclosedthemslowlyforamoment，asiftocollecthisroutedthoughts。Asilencefell;butwhatwiththetwogas—jetsoverthetableandtheglowinggratethelittleparlourbehindMrVerloc’sshophadbecomefrightfullyhot。MrVerloc，gettingoffthesofawithponderousreluctance，openedthedoorleadingintothekitchentogetmoreair，andthusdisclosedtheinnocentStevie，seatedverygoodandquietatadealtable，drawingcircles，circles;innumerablecircles，concentric，eccentric;
　　acoruscatingwhirlofcirclesthatbytheirtangledmultitudeofrepeatedcurves，uniformityofform，andconfusionofintersectinglinessuggestedarenderingofcosmicchaos，thesymbolismofamadartattemptingtheinconceivable。Theartistneverturnedhishead;andinallhissoul’sapplicationtothetaskhisbackquivered，histhinneck，sunkintoadeephollowatthebaseoftheskull，seemedreadytosnap。
　　MrVerloc，afteragruntofdisapprovingsurprise，returnedtothesofa。
　　AlexanderOssipongotup，tallinhisthreadbarebluesergesuitunderthelowceiling，shookoffthestiffnessoflongimmobility，andstrolledawayintothekitchen（downtwosteps）tolookoverStevie’sshoulder。
　　Hecameback，pronouncingoracularly:`Verygood。Verycharacteristic，perfectlytypical。’
　　`What’sverygood？’grunted，inquiringly，MrVerloc，settledagaininthecornerofthesofa。Theotherexplainedhismeaningnegligently，withashadeofcondescensionandatossofhisheadtowardsthekitchen:
　　`Typicalofthisformofdegeneracy—thesedrawings，Imean。’
　　`Youwouldcallthatladadegenerate，wouldyou？’mumbledMrVerloc。
　　ComradeAlexanderOssipon—nicknamedtheDoctor，ex—medicalstudentwithoutadegree;afterwardswanderinglecturertoworking—men’sassociationsuponthesocialisticaspectsofhygiene;authorofapopularquasi—medicalstudy（intheformofacheappamphletseizedpromptlybythepolice）entitledTheCorrodingVicesoftheMiddleClasses;specialdelegateofthemoreorlessmysteriousRedCommittee，togetherwithKarlYundtandMichaelis，fortheworkofliterarypropaganda—turnedupontheobscurefamiliarofatleasttwoEmbassiesthatglanceofinsufferable，hopelesslydensesufficiencywhichnothingbutthefrequentationofsciencecangivetothedullnessofcommonmortals。
　　`That’swhathemaybecalledscientifically。Verygoodtype，too，altogether，ofthatsortofdegenerate。It’sgoodenoughtoglanceatthelobesofhisears。IfyoureadLombroso——’
　　MrVerloc，moodyandspreadlargelyonthesofa，continuedtolookdowntherowofhiswaistcoatbuttons;buthischeeksbecametingedbyafaintblush。Oflateeventhemerestderivativeofthewordscience（aterminitselfinoffensiveandofindefinitemeaning）hadthecuriouspowerofevokingadefinitelyoffensivementalvisionofMrVladimir，inhisbodyashelived，withanalmostsupernaturalclearness。Andthisphenomenondeservingjustlytobeclassedamongstthemarvelsofscience，inducedinMrVerlocanemotionalstateofdreadandexasperationtendingtoexpressitselfinviolentswearing。Buthesaidnothing。ItwasKarlYundtwhowasheard，implacabletohislastbreath。
　　`Lombrosoisanass。’
　　ComradeOssiponmettheshockofthisblasphemybyanawful，vacantstare。Andtheother，hisextinguishedeyeswithoutgleamsblackeningthedeepshadowsunderthegreat，bonyforehead，mumbled，catchingthetipofhistonguebetweenhislipsateverysecondwordasthoughhewerechewingitangrily:
　　`Didyoueverseesuchanidiot？Forhimthecriminalistheprisoner。
　　Simple，isitnot？Whataboutthosewhoshuthimupthere—forcedhiminthere？Exactly。Forcedhiminthere。Andwhatiscrime？Doesheknowthat，thisimbecilewhohasmadehiswayinthisworldofgorgedfoolsbylookingattheearsandteethofalotofpoor，lucklessdevils？Teethandearsmarkthecriminal？Dothey？Andwhataboutthelawthatmarkshimstillbetter—theprettybrandinginstrumentinventedbytheoverfedtoprotectthemselvesagainstthehungry？Red—hotapplicationsontheirvileskins—hey？Can’tyousmellandhearfromherethethickhideofthepeopleburnandsizzle？That’showcriminalsaremadeforyourLombrosostowritetheirsillystuffabout。’
　　Theknobofhisstickandhislegsshooktogetherwithpassion，whilstthetrunk，drapedinthewingsofthehavelock，preservedhishistoricattitudeofdefiance。Heseemedtosniffthetaintedairofsocialcruelty，tostrainhisearforitsatrocioussounds。Therewasanextraordinaryforceofsuggestioninthisposturing。Theallbutmoribundveteranofdynamitewarshadbeenagreatactorinhistime—actoronplatforms，insecretassemblies，inprivateinterviews。Thefamousterroristhadneverinhisliferaisedpersonallyasmuchashislittlefingeragainstthesocialedifice。Hewasnomanofaction;hewasnotevenanoratoroftorrentialeloquence，sweepingthemassesalongintherushingnoiseandfoamofagreatenthusiasm。Withamoresubtleintention，hetookthepartofaninsolentandvenomousevokerofsinisterimpulseswhichlurkintheblindenvyandexasperatedvanityofignorance，inthesufferingandmiseryofpoverty，inallthehopefulandnobleillusionsofrighteousanger，pity，andrevolt。Theshadowofhisevilgiftclungtohimyetlikethesmellofadeadlydruginanoldvialofpoison，emptiednow，useless，readytobethrownawayupontherubbish—heapofthingsthathadservedtheirtime。
　　Michaelis，theticket—of—leaveapostle，smiledvaguelywithhisgluedlips;hispastymoonfacedroopedundertheweightofmelancholyassent。
　　Hehadbeenaprisonerhimself。Hisownskinhadsizzledunderthered—hotbrand，hemurmuredsoftly。ButComradeOssipon，nicknamedtheDoctor，hadgotovertheshockbythattime。
　　`Youdon’tunderstand，’hebegan，disdainfully，butstoppedshort，intimidatedbythedeadblacknessofthecavernouseyesinthefaceturnedslowlytowardshimwithablindstare，asifguidedonlybythesound。Hegavethediscussionup，withaslightshrugoftheshoulders。
　　Stevie，accustomedtomoveaboutdisregarded，hadgotupfromthekitchentable，carryingoffhisdrawingtobedwithhim。HehadreachedtheparlourdoorintimetoreceiveinfulltheshockofKarlYundt’seloquentimagery。
　　Thesheetofpapercoveredwithcirclesdroppedoutofhisfingers，andheremainedstaringattheoldterrorist，asifrootedsuddenlytothespotbyhismorbidhorroranddreadofphysicalpain。Stevieknewverywellthathotironappliedtoone’sskinhurtverymuch。Hisscaredeyesblazedwithindignation:itwouldhurtterribly。Hismouthdroppedopen。
　　Michaelisbystaringunwinkinglyatthefirehadregainedthatsentimentofisolationnecessaryforthecontinuityofhisthought。Hisoptimismhadbeguntoflowfromhislips。HesawCapitalismdoomedinitscradle，bornwiththepoisonoftheprincipleofcompetitioninitssystem。Thegreatcapitalistsdevouringthelittlecapitalists，concentratingthepowerandthetoolsofproductioningreatmasses，perfectingindustrialprocesses，andinthemadnessofself—aggrandizementonlypreparing，organizing，enriching，makingreadythelawfulinheritanceofthesufferingproletariat。Michaelispronouncedthegreatword`Patience’—andhisclearblueglance，raisedtothelowceilingofMrVerloc’sparlour，hadacharacterofseraphictrustfulness。InthedoorwayStevie，calmed，seemedsunkinhebetude。
　　ComradeOssipon’sfacetwitchedwithexasperation。`Thenit’snousedoinganything—nousewhatever。’
　　`Idon’tsaythat，’protestedMichaelis，gently。Hisvisionoftruthhadgrownsointensethatthesoundofastrangevoicefailedtoroutitthistime。Hecontinuedtolookdownattheredcoals。Preparationforthefuturewasnecessary，andhewaswillingtoadmitthatthegreatchangewouldperhapscomeintheupheavalofarevolution。Buthearguedthatrevolutionarypropagandawasadelicateworkofhighconscience。Itwastheeducationofthemastersoftheworld。Itshouldbeascarefulastheeducationgiventokings。Hewouldhaveitadvanceitstenetscautiously，eventimidly，inourignoranceoftheeffectthatmaybeproducedbyanygiveneconomicchangeuponthehappiness，themorals，theintellect，thehistoryofmankind。Forhistoryismadewithtools，notwithideas;andeverythingischangedbyeconomicconditions—art，philosophy，love，virtue—truthitself！
　　Thecoalsinthegratesettleddownwithaslightcrash;andMichaelis，thehermitofvisionsinthedesertofapenitentiary，gotupimpetuously。
　　Roundlikeadistendedballoon，heopenedhisshort，thickarms，asifinapatheticallyhopelessattempttoembraceandhugtohisbreastaself—regenerateduniverse。Hegaspedwithardour。
　　`Thefutureisascertainasthepast—slavery，feudalism，individualism，collectivism。Thisisthestatementofalaw，notanemptyprophecy。’
　　ThedisdainfulpoutofComradeOssipon’sthicklipsaccentuatedtheNegrotypeofhisface。
　　`Nonsense，’hesaid，calmlyenough。`Thereisnolawandnocertainty。
　　Theteachingpropagandabehanged。Whatthepeopleknowsdoesnotmatter，wereitsknowledgeeversoaccurate。Theonlythingthatmatterstousistheemotionalstateofthemasses。Withoutemotionthereisnoaction。’
　　Hepaused，thenaddedwithmodestfirmness:
　　`IamspeakingnowCoyouscientifically—scientifically—Eh？Whatdidyousay，Verloc？’
　　`Nothing，’growledfromthesofaMrVerloc，who，provokedbytheabhorrentsound，hadmerelymuttereda`Damn。’
　　Thevenomoussplutteringoftheoldterroristwithoutteethwasheard。
　　`DoyouknowhowIwouldcallthenatureofthepresenteconomicconditions？
　　Iwouldcallitcannibalistic。That’swhatitis！Theyarenourishingtheirgreedonthequiveringfleshandthewarmbloodofthepeople—nothingelse。’
　　Stevieswallowedtheterrifyingstatementwithanaudiblegulp，andatonce，asthoughithadbeenswiftpoison，sanklimplyinasittingpostureonthestepsofthekitchendoor。
　　Michaelisgavenosignsofhavingheardanything。Hislipsseemedgluedtogetherforgood;notaquiverpassedoverhisheavycheeks。Withtroubledeyeshelookedforhisround，hardhat，andputitonhisroundhead。HisroundandobesebodyseemedtofloatlowbetweenthechairsunderthesharpelbowofKarlYundt。Theoldterrorist，raisinganuncertainandclawlikehand，gaveaswaggeringtilttoablackfeltsombreroshadingthehollowsandridgesofhiswastedface。Hegotinmotionslowly，strikingthefloorwithhistickateverystep。Itwasratheranaffairtogethimoutofthehousebecause，nowandthen，hewouldstop，asiftothink，anddidnotoffertomoveagaintillimpelledforwardbyMichaelis。Thegentleapostlegraspedhisarmwithbrotherlycare;andbehindthem，hishandsinhispockets，therobustOssiponyawnedvaguely。AbluecapwithapatentleatherpeaksetwellatthebackofhisyellowbushofhairgavehimtheaspectofaNorwegiansailorboredwiththeworldafterathunderingspree。
　　MrVerlocsawhisguestsoffthepremises，attendingthembareheaded，hisheavyovercoathangingopen，hiseyesontheground。
　　Heclosedthedoorbehindtheirbackswithrestrainedviolence，turnedthekey，shotthebolt。Hewasnotsatisfiedwithhisfriends。InthelightofMrVladimir’sphilosophyofbombthrowingtheyappearedhopelesslyfutile。
　　ThepartofMrVerlocinrevolutionarypoliticshavingbeentoobserve，hecouldnotallatonce，eitherinhisownhomeorinlargerassemblies，taketheinitiativeofaction。Hehadtobecautious。Movedbythejustindignationofamanwelloverforty，menacedinwhatisdearesttohim—hisreposeandhissecurity—heaskedhimselfscornfullywhatelsecouldhavebeenexpectedfromsuchalot，thisKarlYundt，thisMichaelis—thisOssipon。
　　Pausinginhisintentiontoturnoffthegasburninginthemiddleoftheshop，MrVerlocdescendedintotheabyssofmoralreflections。Withtheinsightofakindredtemperamenthepronouncedhisverdict。Alazylot—thisKarlYundt，nursedbyablear—eyedoldwoman，awomanhehadyearsagoenticedawayfromafriend，andafterwardshadtriedmorethanoncetoshakeoffintothegutter。JollyluckyforYundtthatshehadpersistedincominguptimeaftertime，orelsetherewouldhavebeennoonenowtohelphimoutofthebusbytheGreenParkrailings，wherethatspectretookitsconstitutionalcrawleveryfinemorning。Whenthatindomitablesnarlingoldwitchdiedtheswaggeringspectrewouldhavetovanish，too—therewouldbeanendtofieryKarlYundt。AndMrVerloc’smoralitywasoffendedalsobytheoptimismofMichaelis，annexedbyhiswealthyoldlady，whohadtakenlatelytosendinghimtoacottageshehadinthecountry。
　　Theex—prisonercouldmoonabouttheshadylanesfordaystogetherinadeliciousandhumanitarianidleness。AstoOssipon，thatbeggarwassuretowantfornothingaslongasthereweresillygirlswithsavings—bankbooksintheworld。AndMrVerloc，temperamentallyidenticalwithhisassociates，drewfinedistinctionsinhismindonthestrengthofinsignificantdifferences。
　　Hedrewthemwithacertaincomplacency，becausetheinstinctofconventionalrespectabilitywasstrongwithinhim，beingonlyovercomebyhisdislikeofallkindsofrecognizedlabour—atemperamentaldefectwhichhesharedwithalargeproportionofrevolutionaryreformersofagivensocialstate。
　　Forobviouslyonedoesnotrevoltagainsttheadvantagesandopportunitiesofthatstate，butagainstthepricewhichmustbepaidforthesameinthecoinofacceptedmorality，self—restraint，andcoil。Themajorityofrevolutionistsaretheenemiesofdisciplineandfatiguemostly。Therearenatures，too，towhosesenseofjusticethepriceexactedloomsupmonstrouslyenormous，odious，oppressive，worrying，humiliating，extortionate，intolerable。Thosearethefanatics。Theremainingportionofsocialrebelsisaccountedforbyvanity，themotherofallnobleandvileillusions，thecompanionofpoets，reformers，charlatans，prophets，andincendiaries。
　　Lostforawholeminuteintheabyssofmeditation，MrVerlocdidnotreachthedepthoftheseabstractconsiderations。Perhapshewasnotable。
　　Inanycasehehadnotthetime。HewaspulleduppainfullybythesuddenrecollectionofMrVladimir，anotherofhisassociates，whominvirtueofsubtlemoralaffinitieshewascapableofjudgingcorrectly。Heconsideredhimasdangerous。Ashadeofenvycreptintohisthoughts。Loafingwasallverywellforthesefellows，whoknewnotMrVladimir，andhadwomentofallbackupon;whereashehadawomantoprovidefor——
　　Atthispoint，byasimpleassociationofideas，MrVerlocwasbroughtfacetofacewiththenecessityofgoingtobedsometimeorotherthatevening。Thenwhynotgonow—atonce？Hesighed。Thenecessitywasnotsonormallypleasurableasitoughttohavebeenforamanofhisageandtemperament。Hedreadedthedemonofsleeplessness，whichhefelthadmarkedhimforitsown。Heraisedhisarm，andturnedofftheflaringgas—jetabovehishead。
　　Abrightbandoflightfellthroughtheparlourdoorintothepartoftheshopbehindthecounter。ItenabledMrVerloctoascertainataglancethenumberofsilvercoinsinthetill。Thesewerebutfew;andforthefirsttimesinceheopenedhisshophetookacommercialsurveyofitsvalue。Thissurveywasunfavourable。Hehadgoneintotradefornocommercialreasons。Hehadbeenguidedintheselectionofthispeculiarlineofbusinessbyaninstinctiveleaningtowardsshadytransactions，wheremoneyispickedupeasily。Moreover，itdidnottakehimoutofhisownsphere—thespherewhichIswatchedbythepolice。Onthecontrary，itgavehimapubliclyconfessedstandinginthatsphere，andasMrVerlochadunconfessedrelationswhichmadehimfamiliarwithyetcarelessofthepolice，therewasadistinctadvantageinsuchasituation。Butasameansoflivelihooditwasbyitselfinsufficient。
　　Hetookthecash—boxoutofthedrawer，andturningtoleavetheshop，becameawarethatSteviewasstilldownstairs。
　　Whatonearthishedoingthere？MrVerlocaskedhimself。What’sthemeaningoftheseantics？Helookeddubiouslyathisbrother—in—law，butdidnotaskhimforinformation。MrVerloc’sintercoursewithSteviewaslimitedtothecasualmutterofamorning，afterbreakfast，`Myboots，’
　　andeventhatwasmoreacommunicationatlargeofaneedthanadirectorderorrequest。MrVerlocperceivedwithsomesurprisethathedidnotknowreallywhattosaytoStevie。Hestoodstillinthemiddleoftheparlour，andlookedintothekitcheninsilence。Noryetdidheknowwhatwouldhappenifhedidsayanything。AndthisappearedveryqueertoMrVerlocinviewofthefact，borneuponhimsuddenly，thathehadtoprovideforthisfellow，too。Hehadnevergivenamoment’sthoughttillthentothataspectofStevie’sexistence。
　　Positivelyhedidnotknowhowtospeaktothelad。Hewatchedhimgesticulatingandmurmuringinthekitchen。Stevieprowledroundthetablelikeanexcitedanimalinacage。Atentative`Hadn’tyoubettergotobednow？’producednoeffectwhatever;andMrVerloc，abandoningthestonycontemplationofhisbrother—in—law’sbehaviour，crossedtheparlourwearily，cash—boxinhand。Thecauseofthegenerallassitudehefeltwhileclimbingthestairsbeingpurelymental，hebecamealarmedbyitsinexplicablecharacter。Hehopedhewasnotsickeningforanything。Hestoppedonthedarklandingtoexaminehissensations。Butaslightandcontinuoussoundofsnoringpervadingtheobscurityinterferedwiththeirclearness。Thesoundcamefromhismother—in—law’sroom。Anotheronetoprovidefor，hethought—
　　andonthisthoughtwalkedintothebedroom。
　　MrsVerlochadfallenasleepwiththelamp（nogaswaslaidupstairs）
　　turnedupfullonthetablebythesideofthebed。Thelightthrowndownbytheshadefelldazzlinglyonthewhitepillowsunkbytheweightofherheadreposingwithclosedeyesanddarkhairdoneupinseveralplaitsforthenight。Shewokeupwiththesoundofhernameinherears，andsawherhusbandstandingoverher。
　　`Winnie！Winnie！’
　　Atfirstshedidnotstir，lyingveryquietandlookingatthecash—boxinMrVerloc’shand。Butwhensheunderstoodthatherbrotherwas`caperingallovertheplacedownstairs’sheswungoutinonesuddenmovementontotheedgeofthebed。Herbarefeet，asifpokedthroughthebottomofanunadorned，sleevedcalicosackbuttonedtightlyatneckandwrists，feltovertherugfortheslipperswhileshelookedupwardintoherhusband’sface。
　　`Idon’tknowhowtomanagehim，’MrVerlocexplained，peevishly。`Won’tdotoleavehimdownstairsalonewiththelights。’
　　Shesaidnothing，glidedacrosstheroomswiftly，andthedoorcloseduponherwhiteform。
　　MrVerlocdepositedthecash—boxonthenighttable，andbegantheoperationofundressingbyflinginghisovercoatontoadistantchair。Hiscoatandwaistcoatfollowed。Hewalkedabouttheroominhisstockingedfeet，andhisburlyfigure，withthehandsworryingnervouslyathisthroat，passedandrepassedacrossthelongstripoflooking—glassinthedoorofhiswife’swardrobe。Thenafterslippinghisbracesoffhisshouldershepulledupviolentlythevenetianblind，andleanedhisforeheadagainstthecoldwindow—pane—afragilefilmofglassstretchedbetweenhimandtheenormityofcold，black，wet，muddy，inhospitableaccumulationofbricks，slates，andstones，thingsinthemselvesunlovelyandunfriendlytoman。
　　MrVerlocfeltthelatentunfriendlinessofalloutofdoorswithaforceapproachingtopositivebodilyanguish。Thereisnooccupationthatfailsamanmorecompletelythanthatofasecretagentofpolice。It’slikeyourhorsesuddenlyfallingdeadunderyouinthemidstofanuninhabitedandthirstyplain。ThecomparisonoccurredtoMrVerlocbecausehehadsatastridevariousarmyhorsesinhistime，andhadnowthesensationofanincipientfall。Theprospectwasasblackasthewindow—paneagainstwhichhewasleaninghisforehead。AndsuddenlythefaceofMrVladimir，clean—shavedandwitty，appearedenhaloedintheglowofitsrosycomplexionlikeasortofpinksealimpressedonthefataldarkness。
　　ThisluminousandmutilatedvisionwassoghastlyphysicallythatMrVerlocstartedawayfromthewindow，lettingdownthevenetianblindwithagreatrattle。Discomposedandspeechlesswiththeapprehensionofmoresuchvisions，hebeheldhiswifere—entertheroomandgetintobedinacalm，businesslikemannerwhichmadehimfeelhopelesslylonelyintheworld。MrsVerlocexpressedhersurpriseatseeinghimupyet。
　　`Idon’tfeelverywell，’hemuttered，passinghishandsoverhismoistbrow。
　　`Giddiness？’
　　`Yes。Notatallwell。’
　　MrsVerloc，withalltheplacidityofanexperiencedwife，expressedaconfidentopinionastothecause，andsuggestedtheusualremedies;
　　butherhusband，rootedinthemiddleoftheroom，shookhisloweredheadsadly。
　　`You’llcatchcoldstandingthere，’sheobserved。
　　MrVerlocmadeaneffort，finishedundressing，andgotintobed。Downbelowinthequiet，narrowstreetmeasuredfootstepsapproachedthehouse，thendiedaway，unhurriedandfirm，asifthepasser—byhadstartedtopaceoutalleternity，fromgas—lamptogas—lampinanightwithoutend;
　　andthedrowsytickingoftheoldclockonthelandingbecamedistinctlyaudibleinthebedroom。
　　MrsVerloc，onherback，andstaringattheceiling，madearemark。
　　`Takingsverysmalltoday。’
　　MrVerloc，inthesameposition，clearedhisthroatasifforanimportantstatement，butmerelyinquired:
　　`Didyouturnoffthegasdownstairs？’
　　`Yes;Idid，’answeredMrsVerloc，conscientiously。`Thatpoorboyisinaveryexcitedstatetonight，’shemurmured，afterapausewhichlastedforthreeticksoftheclock。
　　MrVerloccarednothingforStevie’sexcitement，buthefelthorriblywakeful，anddreadedfacingthedarknessandsilencethatwouldfollowtheextinguishingofthelamp。ThisdreadledhimtomaketheremarkthatSteviehaddisregardedhissuggestiontogotobed。MrsVerloc，fallingintothetrap，startedtodemonstrateatlengthtoherhusbandthatthiswasnot`impudence’ofanysort，butsimplyexcitement’。TherewasnoyoungmanofhisageinLondonmorewillinganddocilethanStephen，sheaffirmed;
　　nonemoreaffectionateandreadytoplease，andevenuseful，aslongaspeopledidnotupsethispoorhead。MrsVerloc，turningtowardsherrecumbenthusband，raisedherselfonherelbow，andhungoverhiminheranxietythatheshouldbelieveStevietobeausefulmemberofthefamily。Thatardourofprotectingcompassionexaltedmorbidlyinherchildhoodbythemiseryofanotherchildtingedhersallowcheekswithafaintduskyblush，madeherbigeyesgleamunderthedarklids。MrsVerlocthenlookedyounger;
　　shelookedasyoungasWinnieusedtolook，andmuchmoreanimatedthantheWinnieoftheBelgravianmansiondayshadeverallowedherselftoappeartogentlemenlodgers。MrVerloc’sanxietieshadpreventedhimfromattachinganysensetowhathiswifewassaying。Itwasasifhervoicewastalkingontheothersideofaverythickwall。Itwasheraspectthatrecalledhimtohimself。
　　Heappreciatedthiswoman，andthesentimentofthisappreciation，stirredbyadisplayofsomethingresemblingemotion，onlyaddedanotherpangtohismentalanguish。Whenhervoiceceasedhemoveduneasily，andsaid:
　　`Ihaven’tbeenfeelingwellforthelastfewdays。’
　　Hemighthavemeantthisasanopeningtoacompleteconfidence;butMrsVerloclaidherheadonthepillowagain，andstaringupward，wenton:
　　`Thatboyhearstoomuchofwhatistalkedabouthere。IfIhadknowntheywerecomingtonightIwouldhaveseentoitthathewenttobedatthesametimeIdid。Hewasoutofhismindwithsomethingheoverheardabouteatingpeople’sfleshanddrinkingblood。What’sthegoodoftalkinglikethat？’
　　Therewasanoteofindignantscorninhervoice。MrVerlocwasfullyresponsivenow。
　　`AskKarlYundt，’hegrowled，savagely。
　　MrsVerloc，withgreatdecision，pronouncedKarlYundt`adisgustingoldman’。ShedeclaredopenlyheraffectionforMichaelis。OftherobustOssipon，inwhosepresenceshealwaysfeltuneasybehindanattitudeofstonyreserve，shesaidnothingwhatever。Andcontinuingtotalkofthatbrother，whohadbeenforsomanyyearsanobjectofcareandfears:
　　`Heisn’tfittohearwhat’ssaidhere。Hebelievesit’salltrue。Heknowsnobetter。Hegetsintohispassionsoverit。’
　　MrVerlocmadenocomment。
　　`Heglaredatme，asifhedidn’tknowwhoIwas，whenIwentdownstairs。
　　Hisheartwasgoinglikeahammer。Hecan’thelpbeing##excitable。Iwokemotherup，andaskedhertositwithhimtillhewenttosleep。Itisn’thisfault。He’snotroublewhenhe’sleftalone。’
　　MrVerlocmadenocomment。
　　`Iwishhehadneverbeentoschool，’MrsVerlocbeganagain，brusquely。
　　`He’salwaystakingawaythosenewspapersfromthewindowtoread。Hegetsaredfaceporingoverthem。Wedon’tgetridofadozennumbersinamonth。
　　Theyonlytakeuproominthefrontwindow。AndMrOssiponbringseveryweekapileoftheseF。P。tractstosellatahalfpennyeach。Iwouldn’tgiveahalfpennyforthewholelot。It’ssillyreading—that’swhatitis。There’snosaleforit。TheotherdaySteviegotholdofone，andtherewasastoryinitofaGermansoldierofficertearinghalf—offtheearofarecruit，andnothingwasdonetohimforit。Thebrute！Icouldn’tdoanythingwithSteviethatafternoon。Thestorywasenough，too，tomakeone’sbloodboil。Butwhat’stheuseofprintingthingslikethat？Wearen’tGermanslaveshere，thankGod。It’snotourbusiness—isit？’
　　MrVerlocmadenoreply。
　　`Ihadtotakethecarvingknifefromtheboy，’MrsVerloccontinued，alittlesleepilynow。`Hewasshoutingandstampingandsobbing。Hecan’tstandthenotionofanycruelty。Hewouldhavestuckthatofficerlikeapigifhehadseenhimthen。It’strue，too！Somepeopledon’tdeservemuchmercy。’MrsVerloc’svoiceceased，andtheexpressionofhermotionlesseyesbecamemoreandmorecontemplativeandveiledduringthelongpause。