I can trust you." And she went on with her methodical proceedings.

She laid two plates, got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between the table and the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home.

On the point of taking out the jam, she reflected practically: "He will be feeling hungry, having been away all day," and she returned to the cupboard once more to get the cold beef.

She set it under the purring gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motionless husband hugging the fire, she went (down two steps) into the kitchen.

It was only when coming back, carving knife and fork in hand, that she spoke again.
"If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have married you." Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands, seemed to have gone to sleep.