Читать книгу The Doomington Wanderer - Louis Golding - Страница 16

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Harry Spender managed to get himself heard at last.

“For the last time, are you coming in?”

“I’m coming!” She stamped her foot. She detached her arms from round Tom’s chest. “Such dreadful news!” she sighed. “But you’re such a comfort, Mr. Molyneux! So big and strong! I’ll be seeing you again soon, won’t I?” She stood and ogled him.

“Yo’ sho’ will!” he said, and turned away. He walked straight back to the inn—the Golden Lion, its name was—on the further side of the green.

“Good evening, Mr. Molyneux!” the landlord greeted him. “For it is Mr. Molyneux, isn’t it? You’ll have a pint of ale with us, won’t you, before you go back to Crowleigh?”

“Ah’m not goin’ back to Crowleigh,” said the negro quietly. “Hev yo’ gotta room heah? Ah want a room facin’ dat way, lookin’ out ’cross de green.”

“I’ll ask my lady, Mr. Molyneux. I don’t know. I don’t know at all.”

“I know!” said Mr. Molyneux.