He had once asked for them in a timid and tentative voice, and she had given him a look of such utter darkness that he had told her at once to forget it.
She tore the typewriter off the board and slammed it down on the mantel, lifting its weight of dead metal as he might have lifted an empty cardboard box. He reversed out of the pantry, pausing to turn off the light, reminding himself that he must (rinse) put everything back in order as he made his retreat.