He raised his
chubby hand to his forehead, but all the muscles of it were lax and
the fingers loosely curved; at the same time he drew back his left
foot and kicked up the heel a few inches. Louis amiably responded.
Rachel went direct to Mrs. Heath, a woman of forty-five. She had never
before seen Heath in the shop.
"Doing much with the gees lately, Mr. Fores?" Heath inquired in a
cheerful, discreet tone.
"Not me!"
"Well, I can't say I've had much luck myself, sir."
The conversation was begun in proper form. Through it Louis could hear
Rachel buying a cutlet, and then another cutlet, from Mrs. Heath, and
protesting that five-pence was a good price and all she desired to pay
even for the finest cutlet in the shop. And then Rachel asked about
sweetbreads. Heath's voice grew more and more confidential and at
length, after a brief pause, he whispered--
"Ye're not married, are ye, sir? Excuse the liberty."
It was a whisper, but one of those terrible, miscalculated whispers
that can be heard for miles around, like the call of the cuckoo.
Plainly Heath was not aware of the identity of Rachel Fleckring. And
in his world, which was by no means the world of his shop and his
wife, it was incredible that a man should run round shopping with a
woman on a Saturday night unless he was a husband on unescapable duty.
Pages:
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215