Nothing had really taken place in them until it was told to their mother.

But as soon as the father came in, everything stopped.

He was like the scotch in the smooth, happy machinery of the home.

And he was always aware of this fall of silence on his entry, the shutting off of life, the unwelcome.

But now it was gone too far to alter.
He would dearly have liked the children to talk to him, but they could not.