He
happened to be fixed at the end of the table, with his back to the
window, and there was a vacant chair on either side of him; this
situation favoured the hope of his high rank. In truth, he was the
son, the grandson, and several times the nephew, of earthenware
manufacturers. He noticed that the large 'compote' (as it was
called in his trade) which marked the centre of the table, was the
production of his firm. This surprised him, for Peel, Swynnerton
and Co., known and revered throughout the Five Towns as 'Peels,'
did not cater for cheap markets. A late guest startled the room, a
fat, flabby, middle-aged man whose nose would have roused the
provisional hostility of those who have convinced themselves that
Jews are not as other men. His nose did not definitely brand him
as a usurer and a murderer of Christ, but it was suspicious. His
clothes hung loose, and might have been anybody's clothes. He
advanced with brisk assurance to the table, bowed, somewhat too
effusively, to several people, and sat down next to Peel-
Swynnerton. One of the maids at once brought him a plate of soup,
and he said: "Thank you, Marie," smiling at her. He was evidently
a habitue of the house.
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