The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. After all, you may easily come to fetch Mrs Ibstock when you need her. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest.
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