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right, Aunt Flo,' he says, just that and nothing more. Time after
time, I've dreamt of it, and now he's come. 'They've Reformed me,' he
says, 'and made me a devil, and devil I mean to be to you. So out with
it,' he says."
"
"
"
What did you give him last time?" asked Mr. Polly.
Three golden pounds," said the plump woman.
'That won't last very long,' he says. 'But there ain't no hurry. I'll
be back in a week about.' If I wasn't one of the hoping sort--"
She left the sentence unfinished.
Mr. Polly reflected. "What sort of a size is he?" he asked. "I'm not
one of your Herculaceous sort, if you mean that. Nothing very
wonderful bicepitally."
"You'll scoot," said the plump woman with conviction rather than
bitterness. "You'd better scoot now, and I'll try and find some money
for him to go away again when he comes. It ain't reasonable to expect
you to do anything but scoot. But I suppose it's the way of a woman in
trouble to try and get help from a man, and hope and hope. I'm the
hoping sort."
"
How long's he been about?" asked Mr. Polly, ignoring his own outlook.
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