Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

All along the road to Bestwood the miners tramped, wet and
grey and dirty, but their red mouths talking with animation.
Morel also walked with a gang, but he said nothing. He frowned
peevishly as he went. Many men passed into the Prince of Wales or into
Ellen's. Morel, feeling sufficiently disagreeable to resist temptation,
trudged along under the dripping trees that overhung the park wall,
and down the mud of Greenhill Lane.
Mrs. Morel lay in bed, listening to the rain, and the feet
of the colliers from Minton, their voices, and the bang, bang of
the gates as they went through the stile up the field.
"There's some herb beer behind the pantry door," she said.
"Th' master'll want a drink, if he doesn't stop."
But he was late, so she concluded he had called for a drink,
since it was raining. What did he care about the child or her?
She was very ill when her children were born.