I do not know what sort of story the amorous Quin told his good lady, but I can imagine he was on shaky ground for a day or two. On the Thursday Ma said, ‘I passed Mrs Quin in the main street this afternoon and she cut me dead. Just sailed past me like a gallon on the main street.’ ‘Galleon,’ I said. ‘Galleying she certainly was,’ declared Ma. ‘With her nose stuck up in the air like an empty cannon in the park. I can hardly bring myself to credit she did not see me, or overhear me speaking to her very politely, and it is plain to me, as a consequence of being humilified like this on the main street, that she considers herself a cut above the likes of us. And who would she have been, I ask yuh, before she trapped into matrimony this Quin with all his money, but plain Lizzie Haywood, whose father as near as dammit went to jail for stealing a horse? Next time I come across that stuck-up piece of goods I’ll let her know in no uncertain manner that, much as she might like to forget her humble early oranges, other memories around Klynham are not so short, even if they are wedded to toilers and junk collectors.’ ‘Please, Natalie,’ said Pop.
