He sat at home and, when the children were in bed, and she was sewing--she did all her sewing by hand, made all shirts and children's clothing--he would read to her from the newspaper, slowly pronouncing and delivering the words like a man pitching quoits.

Often she hurried him on, giving him a phrase in anticipation.

And then he took her words humbly.
The silences between them were peculiar.

There would be the swift, slight "cluck" of her needle, the sharp "pop" of his lips as he let out the smoke, the warmth, the sizzle on the bars as he spat in the fire.
Then her thoughts turned to William.

Already he was getting a big boy.
Already he was top of the class, and the master said he was the smartest lad in the school.