In his
abominable speeches before the war Gedge used to point out these
children to unsympathetic Wellingsfordians as the Infant Martyrs
of an Accursed Capitalism.
Betty pulled up the car at Number Seven. Marigold sprang out,
helped her down, and would have walked up the narrow flagged path
to knock at the door. But she declined his aid, and he stood
sentry by the gap where the wicket gate of the garden should have
been. I saw the door open on Betty's summons, and a brawny,
tousled, red-faced woman appear--a most horrible and forbidding
female, although bearing traces of a once blowsy beauty. As in
most cottages hereabouts, you entered straight from garden-plot
into the principal livingroom. On each side of the two figures I
obtained a glimpse of stark emptiness.
Betty said: "Are you Mrs. Tufton? I've come to talk to you about
your husband. Let me come in."
The attack was so debonair, so unquestioning, that the woman
withdrew a pace or two and Betty, following up her advantage,
entered and shut the door behind her. I could not have done what
Betty did if I had had as many legs as a centipede. Marigold
turned to me anxiously.
"You do think she's safe, sir?"
I nodded.
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