You would miss me too much." Mr Verloc started forward.
"Exactly," he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms out and making a step towards her.

Something wild and doubtful in his expression made it appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle or to embrace his wife.
But Mrs Verloc's attention was called away from that manifestation by the clatter of the shop bell.
"Shop, Adolf.

You go." He stopped, his arms came down slowly.
"You go," repeated Mrs Verloc.

"I've got my apron on." Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose face had been painted red.

And this resemblance to a mechanical figure went so far that he had an automaton's absurd air of being aware of the machinery inside of him.
He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried the tray into the kitchen.