" "Look at them, the fat, old,
self-satisfied lemons, with their hats and their dresses and their
squeezed-in corsets and shoes, and even their back hair, bought in
sweat shops like ours! Pills, going to their homes to say their
prayers, and then, full o' dinner, to the meeting of the Anti-Sweats.
I know em! Maybe _they'll_ do some o' the sweatin' in kingdom come!"
Already Win had learned that a "lemon" or a "pill" was a customer who
made as much trouble as possible for as small as possible a return;
but it gave her a stab to hear Peter Rolls's great department store
called a "sweat shop." Again she saw the eyes. Was she never to get
rid of the memory of those hypocritical blue eyes?
Nobody thought of being ready for home until nearly ten o'clock; and
long before that Miss Stein's nerves felt as if they had been run,
like threads, through the eyes of hot needles. Again Win had helped
her in the afternoon by placing blouses of congenial colours together
on the counters instead of letting them lie anyhow, as Miss Stein, in
her recklessness, would have done. But less than ever had the elder
girl seen reason for thanking Miss Child when the second instalment of
"punk" goods was brought out of "reserve.
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