Down below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached the house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had started to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing became distinctly audible in the bedroom.
Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark.
"Takings very small to-day." Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an important statement, but merely inquired: "Did you turn off the gas downstairs ?" "Yes; I did," answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously.

"That poor boy is in a very excited state to-night," she murmured, after a pause which lasted for three ticks of the clock.
Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie's excitement, but he felt horribly wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that would follow the extinguishing of the lamp.

This dread led him to make the remark that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to bed.

Mrs Verloc, falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at length to her husband that this was not "impudence" of any sort, but simply "excitement." There was no young man of his age in London more willing and docile than Stephen, she affirmed; none more affectionate and ready to please, and even useful, as long as people did not upset his poor head.

Mrs Verloc, turning towards her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and hung over him in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful member of the family.