Homecomings by C.P. Snow

IN the summer, I no longer spent half my time away from Sheila. We were waiting for the war to begin; I slept each night in our bedroom, saw her waking and sleeping without break, as I had not done for years. As soon as war came, I assumed that I should go on living beside her in the Chelsea house, as long as one could foresee.

Those September nights, we were as serene, as near happy, as ever in our marriage. I used to walk, not from Millbank now but Whitehall, for I had already taken up my government job, all along the embankment, often at eight o'clock and after; the air was still warm, the sky glowed like a cyclorama; Sheila seemed glad to see me. She was even interested in the work I was doing.