Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

Paul looked in the oven; tapped the loaf on the base.
"It's done," he said, giving it to her.
She tapped it also.
"Yes," she replied, going to unpack her bag. "Oh, and I'm
a wicked, extravagant woman. I know I s'll come to want."
He hopped to her side eagerly, to see her latest extravagance.
She unfolded another lump of newspaper and disclosed some roots of
pansies and of crimson daisies.
"Four penn'orth!" she moaned.
"How CHEAP!" he cried.
"Yes, but I couldn't afford it THIS week of all weeks."
"But lovely!" he cried.
"Aren't they!" she exclaimed, giving way to pure joy.
"Paul, look at this yellow one, isn't it--and a face just like an
old man!"
"Just!" cried Paul, stooping to sniff. "And smells that nice!
But he's a bit splashed."
He ran in the scullery, came back with the flannel, and carefully
washed the pansy.
"NOW look at him now he's wet!" he said.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, brimful of satisfaction.
The children of Scargill Street felt quite select. At the
end where the Morels lived there were not many young things.
So the few were more united. Boys and girls played together,
the girls joining in the fights and the rough games, the boys taking
part in the dancing games and rings and make-belief of the girls.
Annie and Paul and Arthur loved the winter evenings,
when it was not wet. They stayed indoors till the colliers
were all gone home, till it was thick dark, and the street would
be deserted. Then they tied their scarves round their necks,