. It was not clear whether Mr. Verloc had in his mind Spain or
South America; but at any rate somewhere abroad.
    This last word, falling into Mrs. Verloc's ear, produced a definite
impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression was completely
disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit that Mrs. Verloc at once and
automatically asked herself: »And what of Stevie?«
    It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that there
was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There would never be any
occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken out and killed. The poor boy was
dead.
    This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs. Verloc's intelligence.
She began to perceive certain consequences which would have surprised Mr.
Verloc. There was no need for her now to stay there, in that kitchen, in that
house, with that man - since the boy was gone for ever. No need whatever. And on
that Mrs. Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But neither could she see what
there was to keep her in the world at all. And this inability arrested her. Mr.
Verloc watched her with marital solicitude.
    »You're looking more like yourself,« he said, uneasily. Something peculiar
in the blackness of his wife's eyes disturbed his optimism. At that precise
moment Mrs. Verloc began to look upon herself as released from all earthly ties.
She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented by that man
standing over there, was at an end. She was a free woman. Had this view become
in some way perceptible to Mr. Verloc he would have been extremely shocked. In
his affairs of the heart Mr. Verloc had been always carelessly generous, yet
always with no other idea than that of being loved for himself. Upon this
matter, his ethical notions being in agreement with his vanity, he was
completely incorrigible. That this should be so in the case of his virtuous and
legal connection he was perfectly certain. He had grown older, fatter, heavier,
in the belief that he lacked no fascination for being loved for his own sake.
When he saw Mrs. Verloc starting to walk out of the kitchen without a word he
was disappointed.
    »Where are you going to?« he called out rather sharply. »Upstairs?«
    Mrs. Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct of prudence born
of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and touched by that man,
