what &apos;s that ? she said , loudly , as if by speaking he had released anger which she had been gathering against him all the time he had been standing next to her . keeping his face completely serious Dr Horn swayed two or three inches back then forward as if a wind had struck him . she took a deep breath and gave her thick neck and shoulders a shake which she probably thought a convulsive shudder . if you &apos;re suggesting that Martin is n&apos;t old enough &amp;hellip; she said in a new low voice of drama . she found no difficulty in assuming for convenience that the attack she had begun on Martin had n&apos;t happened . he was ashamed of the way she credited other people with her own short memory . he went past them into the narrow hall . he hesitated at the stairs , knowing they had turned to watch . he needed some warning of what he would find . he could imagine his mother saying later , if only I had had the sense to tell you not to disturb him that first evening . he went past the cream banisters , down the passage to the kitchen . he stood near the gas cooker . behind him in the hall the doctor said , Mrs Mason , I do n&apos;t want to worry you &amp;hellip; then they passed into the sitting-room and closed the door . he had begun quickly , as if , now that he had to talk , he must do it before she could question him , bringing confusion to the subject . when Martin stood in the hall he could hear him going on speaking to her , but not what he was saying . he could hear his balanced speaking and the short level snubs he gave her interruptions . he could hear the way that she went on interrupting because she was n&apos;t understanding that he was snubbing her . presently she started to talk and he was letting her . they had turned towards the door and he heard the doctor say , that &apos;s what I said , Mrs Mason . after she had said a lot more he said , no , Mrs Mason , that was not what I said . he went back down the passage to the kitchen . when he heard her coming he went to the far end of the deal table and sat against it with his back to the door . it &apos;s a stroke , that was what he was meaning . he would n&apos;t say it , but I could tell . Martin kept still , facing away . how serious ? oh , he would n&apos;t tell me that . good gracious me , no ! you can n&apos;t remember anything he said ? I tell you I can remember very well indeed &amp;hellip; . she thought that as usual he was trying to make her seem stupid . he wondered how to persuade her that she was wrong . I &apos;ll go up . he stood waiting , expecting her to stop him . she said , this is the time we should have someone we could trust . he went round the deal table on the far side from her , down the passage and upstairs . he wondered whether she might cry because of this rude way he had left her and knew that if she cried she would make it loud enough for him to hear . one of the triangular stained-wood stair-rods had come away from its lacquered brass clip . he did n&apos;t like to think how it had happened . on the half-landing he stood near the porthole window . the engine of the doctor &apos;s car revved loudly in the drive as if he controlled it clumsily . the headlights came on , lighting up the circle of window with the two-inch orange border . she had often complained about his father &apos;s choice of doctor and knew now that she had been right . he understood why his father had chosen him . he could only bear to have a doctor who did not take the absurd business too seriously , who realized that the whole sad joke of men living for only seventy years was made worse if you treated it as anything else . on the upper landing he stood in front of his father &apos;s door , not sure whether to knock . something moved behind him . she was standing halfway up the stairs , so that her head was on the level of his feet . that &apos;s right , she said . he could not think how she got there without making a noise . she usually went upstairs heavily , lifting her knees sideways as if her feet were weighted , frowning at the effort . she had never reconciled herself to things which hurt her , and sometimes he was frightened that when bad things began to happen she would have so little habit of optimism to support her . or perhaps she might never understand that they were worse than going upstairs . what is it ? that &apos;s right , she said , this time raising her arm in the long-sleeved blouse to point . he opened the door and went in . there was a low light on a chest of drawers . the two beds were at the far end with their feet towards him , one flat , the blankets on the other raised in a narrow heap . his father lay on his back . his chest was curiously high and sharp like a pigeon &apos;s . he wore a thin dressing-gown but most of it was under the bedclothes . his face was white and a little shiny , as if damp . it was turned away , so that for a second Martin thought he was asleep , but his eyes were open . his father did n&apos;t move his head but after a second he turned his eyes . he seemed to make no effort to speak or even smile . presently he turned them back . Martin doubted if he had turned them far enough to see him . it was so unlike him that he could not understand it . he knew now that he had expected his father to accept this with the same smile that he accepted everything else . suddenly he had an idea of how much worse it might be , that his father was lying here alone and terrified by what had happened to him . he wanted to say something to prove it was n&apos;t true . he put his hand on to the bedclothes where he thought his father &apos;s shoulder might be . there was something below and he pressed it gently , trying with all his power to convey the sympathy he felt . his father gave no sign that he had noticed . perhaps it had been a lump of the pillow . he went quickly to the door . when he came on to the landing he heard his mother telephoning in the hall below . of course , he may have been feeling ill for weeks and said nothing &amp;hellip; . well , it would be just like Herbert &amp;hellip; . that &apos;s right &amp;hellip; . not at the moment , not one word &amp;hellip; . of course , dear . as soon as there &apos;s anything fresh &amp;hellip; . a nurse came three times a day and sat his father up to feed him . he let this happen but had no appetite , and the plates she brought down to the kitchen often had white mouthfuls of steamed fish which he had chewed but not been able to swallow . it was difficult to tell whether he was unable to speak or whether he could see no point . sometimes he started to say things in a hoarse whisper , looking ahead as if there might be people to either side who would stop him , but never got further than one or two words . most of the time he lay on his back with his eyes open . after three days there seemed nothing Martin could do and he went to the office again . they had given the speech to Burridge . they would be able , later , when time had become a little confused , to explain his failure by his father &apos;s illness , if they wanted to . when he came home in the evenings he sat in the chair by his father &apos;s bed . at first he asked cheerfully how he was feeling , but these questions , left unanswered , seemed to lead only to the bad answers they might have had . he did not like to talk about other things , because he could understand their terrible irrelevance to everything his father must be feeling , and knew , when he mentioned the new morning schedules on the Alton line , that he was only showing him how completely he was failing to understand . he had an idea his father would have liked to hear him say hopeful things about his work , but they would have been too different from his usual silence . sometimes he went away quickly , sometimes he sat for quarter of an hour , saying little . the weather had changed and outside the window strong winds swayed the heavily leafed chestnut tree in the dark summer evening , sometimes showing the wet concrete of the house next door , sometimes when the whole top was driven sideways by a violent gust showing the grey clouds moving fast above . he wanted badly to tell him how sorry he was for the hard , offhand way he had sometimes behaved to him . he found himself more and more surprised that any person could bear to be hard to another . he thought of the years a long time ago when his father had seemed happy . there had been a feeling of hope then which had gone later . things had not been settled in the poor way they later became settled . he remembered a time when they had gone to stay with the Bowerses and Bowers had been building a mud wall , some rustic craft he had discovered . he remembered the planks set up to form a mould for the wet mud . though he could only have been four or five he could remember Bowers &apos; enthusiasm and amusement , and how his father had responded to this and how as they had wheeled the barrows of sloshy mud they had sung songs which he now realized had been parts of some opera they half knew and half could not remember . Bowers had sung the male voice and his father the female , both doing it with great seriousness which was half mock half real . later he could remember the vicious things his mother had said about Mr Bowers . he had not questioned that he must believe that he had always been wicked . his father had not said these things but he had not contradicted them . he had been told that there had been a mistake and his father had been blamed when it had been Mr Bowers &apos; fault . he could remember how he had not been able to understand why his father did nothing about this . but why do n&apos;t you tell them ? it had all seemed so simple but his father had shaken his head . after that there had been another job , then quite soon the war . it sometimes seemed to Martin that this had been the best time for his father . being compelled to do a job which there was no point in questioning and no chance of failing at had suited him . when his father told stories about the war a curious happiness came over him which the stories themselves did not explain . there had been one about helping to break all the bottles in a bar in Cairo and waking up there next morning laid out between two chairs with nothing on but his boots , which his mother had particularly disliked . once his father had shown him a small automatic pistol from the war and he had hoped for a moment to learn something exciting . did you capture it ? his father shook his head , smiling a little at something the question had made him remember . did you find it ? he shook his head again . someone gave it me . Martin had not liked to go on questioning him , suspecting that this would be an intrusion on some private memory which he wanted to respect . after the war his father had gone to his first advertising agency but he had not liked it . there had even been a time when he had left it to take up tutoring and there was still a box of school textbooks in the attic . 