It was that he must wipe his feet "well" on the
mat. In obeying this order he experienced a thrill of satisfaction
he could not account for. He must have stood shuffling his boots
vigorously for a full minute. This, he told himself, was life. He,
Albert Grapp, was alive. And the world was full of other men, all
alive; and yet, because they were not doing Miss Wrackgarth's bidding,
none of them really lived. He was filled with a vague melancholy. But
his melancholy pleased him.
In the parlour he found Jos awaiting him. The table was laid for
three.
"So you're here, are you?" said the host, using the Five Towns
formula. "Emily's in the kitchen," he added. "Happen she'll be here
directly."
"I hope she's tol-lol-ish?" asked Albert.
"She is," said Jos. "But don't you go saying that to her. She doesn't
care about society airs and graces. You'll make no headway if you
aren't blunt."
"Oh, right you are," said Albert, with the air of a man who knew his
way about.
A moment later Emily joined them, still wearing her kitchen apron. "So
you're here, are you?" she said, but did not shake hands. The servant
had followed her in with the tray, and the next few seconds were
occupied in the disposal of the beef and trimmings.
The meal began, Emily carving.
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