And not
without need, for her dirty husband crept softly out after her, thinking
to catch me unawares. I flashed at him like a jack at a minnow, wrenched a
wretched old blunderbuss out of his hands, and with the butt of it knocked
him sprawling back into the other room.
The prime muller merely cackled with false laughter and went on with her
mulling. I fetched him in by the scruff of the neck, stood him up against
the bar, and said, "I think you're in for the soundest thrashing you've
ever had in your life."
"Sarves yer right, sawney," said the woman. "Plase let him off, sir. He
thought yow was Swift Nicks."
"Yow bitch!" he growled. "Yow set me on!"
"Yow'm a ligger!" she retorted. "I towd yow the gen'leman was nowt like
Swift Nicks."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"By the print," was the quick reply. "It tells yow all about him."
I fetched the fly-sheet down, held it out to her, and said sharply, "Read
it to me!"
I thought this would clean beat her, but she said, simply enough, "I
canna rade it mysen, but I've heard it read lots o' times."
"Have you heard it read?" I asked the man.
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