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"Ay, the child's got rheumatic fever, and the doctor won't let her go outside," the woman explained excusingly. "I'll do that for you. How big d'you want it?" "Well, as we must have it, it might as well be a big one. Here's sixpence, it can't be more than that." She gave him the money wrapped in a piece of paper, and the nag set off again.
"But are you under the impression that you have so great a mind that you can understand the most profound writer at a first reading?" "I don't want to understand him, I'm not a critic. I'm not interested in him for his sake but for mine." "Why d'you read then?" "Partly for pleasure, because it's a habit and I'm just as uncomfortable if I don't read as if I don't smoke, and partly to know myself.
"D'you think the Unknown God has singled me out for the job? Or do you really expect to escape scot-free after making the sign of the cross over so many lost souls." "The sign of the cross?" "Yes. Don't you remember when I told you of Brayfield's death? You've never given him a thought since, I suppose. But I'll make you keep on thinking about me." "What has happened to-night?" she asked sharply.
They looked and looked the cow all over carefully, in every part, and noted all the markings, head and shoulders, buttocks and thighs, where it was red and white, and how it stood. "How old d'you think she might be?" asked Isak cautiously. "Think? Why, she's just exactly a tiny way on in her fourth year. I brought her up myself, and they all said it was the sweetest calf they'd ever seen.
The torture of freezing toes was so acute that even men in the front ranks were trying to get warm by treading the mud or sharply raising and lowering their heels. The Sergeant-Major suddenly observed them, blew his whistle and shouted angrily: "Stand still there d'you hear? Stand still there. Can't yer understand English, damn yer?"
"And the next scab that comes into my house won't get off so easy," said Mrs. Porter to her husband. "D'you understand?" "If you 'ad some husbands " began Mr. Porter, trembling with rage. "Yes, I know," said his wife, nodding. "Don't cry, Jemmy," she added, taking the youngest on her knee. "Mother's only having a little game. She and dad are both on strike for more pay and less work." Mr.
"D'you think it's really true? or is this fellow, Lump or Bump or whatever you call him, trying to take a rise out of us, or telling lies to earn the shilling?" "I don't think so," answered Diggory, "and I'll tell you why. For some reason or other, he's at daggers drawn with young Noaks and Hogson. I think they've knocked him about, and he's doing it to pay them out."
The same thin young man, stopping later in an alley way to investigate an arm badly bruised by an iron bar, overheard a conversation between two roundsmen, met under a lamppost after the battle, for comfort and a little conversation. "Can you beat that, Henry?" said one. "Where the hell'd they come from?" "Search me," said Henry. "D'you see the skinny fellow? Limped, too. D'you notice that?
For the first time the young man felt the warmth of the girl breaking through the barriers of her reserve. Her eyes, when they met his, were friendly, even affectionate. It was his turn to be pleasantly shy. "D'you love them?" she asked. She felt somehow so much older than he that she was free to question him. "The horses?" he asked. "Rur-rather," with that infectious enthusiasm of his.
She turned her eyes down on him, brushing aside his coquetry with the sweep of her steady gaze. "D'you mind?" she asked in her direct and simple way as they emerged on to the open Downs. He sobered to her mood. "Only in this way," he answered, "that it was my father's show, and I don't like to have let it down." The girl deliberated.
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