Mr. Fores has just run across to the butcher's to get
something that was forgotten."
Mr. Batchgrew coughed loosely and loudly. And beyond the cough, beyond
the confines of the ugly little room which imprisoned her so close to
old Batchgrew and his grotesque whiskers, Rachel could hear the harsh,
quick laughter of the audience, and then faint music--far off.
"If young Fores was here," said Mr. Batchgrew brutally, "I should tell
him straight as he might do better than to go gallivanting about the
town until that there money's found."
He turned towards his boxes.
"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Batchgrew," said Rachel, tapping her
foot and trying to be very dignified.
"And I'll tell ye another thing, young miss," Batchgrew went on.
"Every minute as ye spend with young Fores ye'll regret. He's a bad
lot, and ye may as well know it first as last. Ye ought to thank me
for telling of ye, but ye won't."
"I really don't know what you mean, Mr. Batchgrew!" She could not
invent another phrase.
"Ye know what I mean right enough, young miss!... If ye only came in
for ten minutes yer time's up."
Rachel moved to leave.
"Hold on!" Batchgrew stopped her. There was a change in his voice.
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