Afterwards they sat together on the sofa.

He seemed to flaunt his body: she was aware of him so--the strong chest, the sides, the thighs in their close-fitting trousers.
He liked to lapse into the dialect when he talked to her.

She would sometimes smoke with him.

Occasionally she would only take a few whiffs at his cigarette.
"Nay," he said to her one evening, when she reached for his cigarette.
"Nay, tha doesna.

I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss if ter's a mind." "I wanted a whiff, no kiss at all," she answered.
"Well, an' tha s'lt ha'e a whiff," he said, "along wi' t' kiss." "I want a draw at thy fag," she cried, snatching for the cigarette between his lips.
He was sitting with his shoulder touching her.