His method was to storm a place by means of electricity,
full-page advertisements in news-papers, the power of his mere name,
and a leading line or so. At Bursley his leading line was apparently
"Singapore delicious chunks at 7-1/2d. per large tin." Rachel knew
Wason; she had known him at Knype. And she was well aware that his
speciality was second-rate. She despised him. She despised that
multitude of simpletons who, full of the ancient illusion that
somewhere something can regularly be had for nothing, imagined
that Wason's bacon and cheese were cheap because he sold preserved
pineapple at a penny less than anybody else in the town. And she
despised the roaring, vulgar success of advertising and electricity.
She had in her some tincture of the old nineteenth century, which
loved the decency of small, quiet things. And in the prim sanity of
her judgment upon Wason she forgot for a few instants that she was in
a dream, and that the streets and the whole town appeared strange and
troubling to her, and that she scarcely knew what she was doing, and
that the most seductive and enchanting of created men was at her side
and very content to be at her side. And also the voice within her was
hushed.
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