‘There’s no baby!’ Thea interrupted him firmly. ‘Nothing’s certain yet!’ From the day she met Gurdweill she had felt an urge to hurt him, to make him miserable in any way she could. And this urge had not faded over the course of time, but had grown stronger and stronger the longer they lived together. His constant submission and resignation only provoked her further. She despised him for suffering in silence and invented all kinds of cruelties to torment him. Why didn’t he shout, lose his temper, curse her, throw her out? Then perhaps she would have found it in her heart to love him a little, in so far as her nature was capable of love at all. For to a certain extent she was attached to him even now. He was necessary to her, and she could not have imagined her life without him. But Gurdweill accepted everything without protest, and this provoked her unendurably. She could not believe, not for a moment, that he was a coward. She knew very well that he was no such thing. Then why was he so long-suffering with regard to her? Perhaps she was even a little offended by his behaviour. She knew that every thrust of hers, however superficial, made him wince; that his silence did not stem from insensitivity. With her woman’s instinct she soon discovered his vulnerable spots and aimed directly for them — but Gurdweill bowed his head and held his tongue.

‘You’re not so bad,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes, ‘I know that you’re not so bad … And you’ll love the baby as much as I do, even more than I do, I know it …’

‘You don’t know anything! As for the baby — we’ll see. If I want to! And it’s got nothing to do with you, I’ve already told you — it’s none of your business!’

But Gurdweill was sure that she would have the baby. If nothing untoward happened, she would have the baby. And all her threats could not spoil his good mood.

‘What do you think,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘is there time for me to shave first, or should I put it off until tomorrow? If you’re hungry and you want to eat now, then of course …’

He passed his fingers over the stubble of his beard, which had not been shaved for two days now, and made a faint brushing sound as he stroked it against the direction of its growth.

Thea wanted to go on reading and gave him permission to shave.

‘In that case I need some light. I can’t see.’

‘And what do you want me to do about it?’

‘I only meant,’ he said carefully, ‘that if you sat here, on the couch, and we put the lamp on the table, we could both see.’

‘No! Move the table and you’ll be able to see. The lamp stays here.’