Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

"We may as well go home," said Dawes.
Paul walked on the outside of the pavement, then Dawes, then Clara.
They made polite conversation. The sitting-room faced the sea,
whose tide, grey and shaggy, hissed not far off.
Morel swung up the big arm-chair.
"Sit down, Jack," he said.
"I don't want that chair," said Dawes.
"Sit down!" Morel repeated.
Clara took off her things and laid them on the couch. She had
a slight air of resentment. Lifting her hair with her fingers,
she sat down, rather aloof and composed. Paul ran downstairs
to speak to the landlady.
"I should think you're cold," said Dawes to his wife.
"Come nearer to the fire."
"Thank you, I'm quite warm," she answered.
She looked out of the window at the rain and at the sea.
"When are you going back?" she asked.
"Well, the rooms are taken until to-morrow, so he wants me
to stop. He's going back to-night."
"And then you're thinking of going to Sheffield?"
"Yes."
"Are you fit to start work?"
"I'm going to start."
"You've really got a place?"
"Yes--begin on Monday."
"You don't look fit."