“I thought,” he says, releasing her hands and drawing her close to him, “that I would buy a house.” She turns to look at him but they are enclosed in darkness, a thick, absolute, impenetrable dark. “A house?” “For you. For us.” “In London?” “No,” he says impatiently, “Stratford, of course. You said you would rather stay here, with the girls.” “A house?” she repeats. “Yes.” “Here?” “Yes.” “Have you money for a house?”
