Now, if we had barrages here----'
MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Very soon you would be enfilided. Where's your supports,
my lady?' Mrs. Dowey is damped.
MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'What none of you grasps is that this is a artillery
war----'
THE HAGGERTY WOMAN, strengthened by the winkle, 'I say that the word is
Salonaiky.'
The others purse their lips.
MRS. TWYMLEY, with terrible meaning, 'We'll change the subject. Have you
seen this week's _Fashion Chat_?' She has evidently seen and
devoured it herself, and even licked up the crumbs. 'The gabardine with
accordion pleats has quite gone out.'
MRS. DOWEY, her old face sparkling. 'My sakes! You tell me?'
MRS. TWYMLEY, with the touch of haughtiness that comes of great topics,
'The plain smock has come in again, with silk lacing, giving that
charming chic effect.'
MRS. DOWEY. 'Oho!'
MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'I must say I was always partial to the straight
line'--thoughtfully regarding the want of line in Mrs. Twymley's
person--'though trying to them as is of too friendly a figure.'
It is here that the Haggerty Woman's fingers close unostentatiously upon
a piece of sugar.
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