...
The old man, known to that low class of fellow with whom he was now
condemned to associate as "Westminister," was taking a whiff or two
out of his old clay pipe, and trying to forget his feet. He saw Hilary
coming, and carefully extended a copy of the last edition.
"Good-evenin', sir! Quite seasonable to-day for the time of year! Ho,
yes! 'Westminister!'"
His eyes followed Hilary's retreat. He thought:
"Oh dear! He's a-given me an 'arf-a-crown. He does look well--I like to
see 'im look as well as that--quite young! Oh dear!"
The sun-that smoky, faring ball, which in its time had seen so many last
editions of the Westminster Gazette--was dropping down to pass the
night in Shepherd's Bush. It made the old butler's eyelids blink when
he turned to see if the coin really was a half-crown, or too good to be
true.
And all the spires and house-roofs, and the spaces up above and
underneath them, glittered and swam, and men and horses looked as if
they had been powdered with golden dust.
CHAPTER XI
PEAR BLOSSOM
Weighed down by her three parcels, the little model pursued her way to
Hound Street. At the door of No. 1 the son of the lame woman, a tall
weedy youth with a white face, was resting his legs alternately, and
smoking a cigarette. Closing one eye, he addressed her thus:
"'Allo, miss! Kerry your parcels for you?"
The little model gave him a look.
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