Lamb to slaughter

The room was warm and clean, the curtains drawn, the two table lamps alight-hers and the one by the empty chair opposite. On the sideboard behind her,two glasses,soda water,whisky.Fresh ice cubes in the Thermos bucket.

Mary Maloney was waiting for her husband to come home from work.
Now and again she would glance up at the clock,but without anxiety,merely to please with the thought that each minute gone by made it nearer the time when he would come. There was a slow smiling air about her, and every thing she did.
The drop of the head as she bent over her sewing was curiously tranquil. Her skin-for this was her sixth month with child-had acquired a wonderful translucent quality, the mouth was soft, and the eyes, with their new placid look, seemed larger, darker than before.

When the clock said ten minutes to five, she began to listen, and a few moments later, punctually as always, she heard the tyres on the gravel outside, and the car door slamming, the footsteps passing the window, the key turning in the lock.

She laid aside her sewing, stood up, and went forward to kiss him as he came in.
She took his coat and hung it in the closet. Then she walked over and made the drinks, a strong one for him, a weak one for herself. and soon she was back again in her chair with the sewing,and he in the other, opposite, holding the tall glass with both his hands, rocking it so the ice cubes tinkled against the side.
To be continued