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"That cat won't jump." Soames shook his head. "An accident," he muttered. Clenching his fist on the paper, George crammed it into his pocket. He could not resist a parting shot. "H'mm! All flourishing at home? Any little Soameses yet?" With a face as white as the steps of Jobson's, and a lip raised as if snarling, Soames brushed past him and was gone....

Soames raised the corner of his lip in a smile, and looked across at Bosinney. The architect was grinning behind the fumes of his cigarette. Now, indeed, he looked more like a buccaneer. "There's a lot of work about it," remarked James hastily, who was really moved by the size of the group. "It'd sell well at Jobson's."

"I don't know. He's into everybody's books all round. I should like to pick up that pony if he does smash." "I heard Charley Dunn say that Mrs. Jobson was round at old Burdett's asking for time. Jimmy Burdett's got a lot of Jobson's paper, and I shouldn't wonder if he stole a march on the other creditors." "Well, Jobson's a good sort, but he couldn't last. He's too free with his money.

They were nearly all landscapes with figures in the foreground, a sign of some mysterious revolt against London, its tall houses, its interminable streets, where his life and the lives of his breed and class were passed. Every now and then he would take one or two pictures away with him in a cab, and stop at Jobson's on his way into the City.

He was a man of most open mind, who, more than any Forsyte of them all, had moved with the times, but he could never forget that he had bought these groups at Jobson's, and given a lot of money for them. He often said to June, with a sort of disillusioned contempt: "You don't care about them! They're not the gimcrack things you and your friends like, but they cost me seventy pounds!"

To Mr Jobson's disgust the corpse was lowered into the boat, when, having received the sum agreed on, he pulled on shore to give the best account of the matter he could.

Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea, turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin, faintly freckled, had such an aged look. "I bought this at Jobson's," he would say; "cost me thirty pounds. It's very old.

He was a man of most open mind, who, more than any Forsyte of them all, had moved with the times, but he could never forget that he had bought these groups at Jobson's, and given a lot of money for them. He often said to June, with a sort of disillusioned contempt: "You don't care about them! They're not the gimcrack things you and your friends like, but they cost me seventy pounds!"

The sale not at Jobson's, in view of the Victorian nature of the effects was far more freely attended than the funeral, though not by Cook and Smither, for Soames had taken it on himself to give them their heart's desires. Winifred was present, Euphemia, and Francie, and Eustace had come in his car.

Soames touched the edge of a gold-lacquered lustre. "She'll tame him," he said, stealthily wetting his finger and rubbing it on the knobby bulbs. "That's genuine old lacquer; you can't get it nowadays. It'd do well in a sale at Jobson's." He spoke with relish, as though he felt that he was cheering up his old aunt. It was seldom he was so confidential.