the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced
with blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her
brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to
suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration.

She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. Going
to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out "Mother!" Then opening the
glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly "Adolf!" Mr Verloc had
not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred a limb for an
hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to his dinner in his
overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. His silence in
itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the
shades of the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim
shop with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's
taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were impressed
by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful eye on poor
Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits of loquacity. He
faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained very good and quiet,
staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself
objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no inconsiderable
anxiety into these two women's lives. "That boy," as they alluded to him
softly between themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety
almost from the very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler's
humiliation at having such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested
itself by a propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine
sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly
genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance
to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are
easily aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence
to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the