Domestic fiction; Sisters -- Fiction; Women -- England -- Fiction
Sophia surreptitiously showed the pliers, which she had partly thrust
into her pocket. Between their points was a most perceptible, and even
recognizable, fragment of Mr. Povey.
This was the crown of Sophia's career as a perpetrator of the
unutterable.
"What!" Constance's face showed the final contortions of that horrified
incredulity which is forced to believe.
Sophia nudged her violently to remind her that they were in the street,
and also quite close to Mr. Povey.
"Now, my little missies," said the vile Hollins. "Three pence a pint,
and how's your honoured mother to-day? Yes, fresh, so help me God!"
CHAPTER II
THE TOOTH
I
The two girls came up the unlighted stone staircase which led from
Maggie's cave to the door of the parlour. Sophia, foremost, was
carrying a large tray, and Constance a small one. Constance, who had
nothing on her tray but a teapot, a bowl of steaming and balmy-scented
mussels and cockles, and a plate of hot buttered toast, went directly
into the parlour on the left. Sophia had in her arms the entire
material and apparatus of a high tea for two, including eggs, jam, and
toast (covered with the slop-basin turned upside down), but not
including mussels and cockles. She turned to the right, passed along
the corridor by the cutting-out room, up two steps into the sheeted and
shuttered gloom of the closed shop, up the showroom stairs, through the
showroom, and so into the bedroom corridor. Experience had proved it
easier to make this long detour than to round the difficult corner of
the parlour stairs with a large loaded tray. Sophia knocked with the
edge of the tray at the door of the principal bedroom. The muffled
oratorical sound from within suddenly ceased, and the door was opened
by a very tall, very thin, black-bearded man, who looked down at Sophia
as if to demand what she meant by such an interruption.
"I've brought the tea, Mr. Critchlow," said Sophia.
And Mr. Critchlow carefully accepted the tray.
"Is that my little Sophia?" asked a faint voice from the depths of the
bedroom.
"Yes, father," said Sophia.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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