“But…” She turned round to face him. His hand fell from her arm. “Don’t you think we should stop making the paint now, John? Perhaps it’ll take years to build those machines, and we’re putting the chemicals into the river right now!”
A shadow crossed his face. His eyes looked at hers, then away, out of the window.
“I… don’t think we need to do that now, Mary. We’re putting very little into the river at the moment. And the company will build those machines, won’t they?”
She remembered her long years of work, the hundreds of unsuccessful experiment. She touched his hand, and smiled. “I hope so, John,” she said. “I really hope so.”