His wife watched him as he entered staggering, with his face averted.
"Mind where you make a lot of dirt," she said.
He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper on the floor.

Soil scattered.
"Sweep it up," he said to Millicent.
His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the tree-boughs.
A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything sharp and hard.

In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red.

All was scrupulously clean and perfect.

A baby was cooing in a rocker-less wicker cradle by the hearth.