Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

upstairs the atmosphere among them was always jolly and clear.
The cellar and the trestles affected them.
After tea, when all the gases were lighted, WORK went more briskly.
There was the big evening post to get off. The hose came up warm
and newly pressed from the workrooms. Paul had made out the invoices.
Now he had the packing up and addressing to do, then he had
to weigh his stock of parcels on the scales. Everywhere voices
were calling weights, there was the chink of metal, the rapid
snapping of string, the hurrying to old Mr. Melling for stamps.
And at last the postman came with his sack, laughing and jolly.
Then everything slacked off, and Paul took his dinner-basket
and ran to the station to catch the eight-twenty train. The day
in the factory was just twelve hours long.
His mother sat waiting for him rather anxiously. He had to
walk from Keston, so was not home until about twenty past nine.
And he left the house before seven in the morning. Mrs. Morel
was rather anxious about his health. But she herself had had to put up