"Come," he said.
"What are you going to do ?" "Come." Sylvia followed, dragging back a little at her husband's leading hand, like a child.

They passed through the dining-room into the kitchen.

"There's a fire in the stove, ain't there ?" said Henry, as they went.
Sylvia nodded again.

She did not seem to have many words for this exigency.
Out in the kitchen Henry moved a lid from the stove, and put the little sheaf of newspaper clippings, which seemed somehow to have a sinister aspect of its own, on the bed of live coals.

They leaped into a snarl of vicious flame.