Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

The first stars, looking in through the kitchen window at "Doomsday," hung as silver points in the criss-cross of the casements, and fraternised with the flame of a shaded candle. A small fire reddened the bars of the new range. In the centre of the brick floor a big galvanised bath stood in a circle of wetness.

Furze had stepped out of it. He was towelling himself, standing very erect with hollowed loins, his skin showing very white save where the work of the day exposed it to the sun. His forearms, neck, head, and the V of the chest where his shirt would lie unbuttoned were brown as scorched grass.