"I shall never again be able to believe what he tells me about the
absence of colouring matter in the jam," whispered an aunt of Mrs. Greyes
tragically.
The mysterious stranger took his departure; Laura Lipping distinctly saw
a snarl of baffled rage reveal itself behind his heavy moustache and
upturned astrachan collar. After a cautious interval the seeker after
oranges emerged from behind the biscuit tins, having apparently failed to
find any individual orange that satisfied his requirements. He, too,
took his departure, and the shop was slowly emptied of its parcel and
gossip laden customers. It was Emily Yorling's "day", and most of the
shoppers made their way to her drawing-room. To go direct from a
shopping expedition to a tea party was what was known locally as "living
in a whirl".
Two extra assistants had been engaged for the following afternoon, and
their services were in brisk demand; the shop was crowded. People bought
and bought, and never seemed to get to the end of their lists. Mr.
Scarrick had never had so little difficulty in persuading customers to
embark on new experiences in grocery wares. Even those women whose
purchases were of modest proportions dawdled over them as though they had
brutal, drunken husbands to go home to.
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