At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Then they deliberated whether Bernard Shaw ought to go into Parliament. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. If you can’t see as how there ain’t nothing in this barrack of a place to help me do the job, I can. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it.
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