The instant
that Win was inside the square it was as if she had been suddenly
swallowed up in a thunder cloud. The head saleswoman (she must be
that, Win thought, judging from the attention paid her by the rest)
was in a black rage--a beautiful Jewess, older than the others, and
growing overplump, but magnificently browed, and hardly thirty yet.
"It's damnable!" she panted, full breast heaving, throat swelling with
stifled sobs, "to put this onto me! Anybody with half an eye can see
through the trick. The Queen of England couldn't get rid of these
nasty rags at a charity bazaar."
She went on without noticing the newcomer, except to flash across
Win's face and figure a lightning, Judith glance which seemed to pitch
a creature unknown and unwanted into the bottomless pit where all was
vile. Her satin-smooth olive hands, with brilliantly polished coral
nails, trembled as, gesticulating, she waved them over the stock which
littered the four counters. She seemed to be throwing her curse upon
blouses, sashes, and ladies' neckwear; and had she been a witch, with
power of casting spells, the masses of silk and satin would have burst
into coloured flame.
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