A wave of cheap perfume assailed his
nostrils. The untidy pretentiousness of her ill-chosen clothes, the
unreality of her manner and carriage, the sheer vulgarity of her choice
of words and phrases--these things seized him as a nightmare. Like a
man who rushes to a cafe for a drink in a moment of exhaustion, he
hastened along towards the National Gallery. His nerves were all
quivering. An opalescent light in the sky above Charing Cross soothed
him for a moment. A glimpse into a famous art shop was like a cool
draught of water. Then, as he walked along in more leisurely fashion,
the great idea came to him. He stopped short upon the pavement. Here
was the solution to all his troubles: a bean for Ellen; another, or
perhaps half of one, for little Alfred! He could not go back to their
world; he would bring them into his!
CHAPTER VII
THE TRUTHFUL AUCTIONEER
At a little before ten on the following morning, Burton stood upon the
pavement outside, looking with some amazement at the house in Wenslow
Square. The notices "To Let" had all been torn down. A small army of
paper-hangers and white-washers were at work. A man was busy fastening
flower boxes in the lower windows. On all hands were suggestions of
impending occupation.
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