When I got there I
stole in at a side door, half-closing my eyes as I did so, by that
strange impulse which causes us to see nothing when we do not wish to be
seen.
I shall never forget the scene inside. I think it must have left a scar
on my brain, for I see it now in every detail--the little dark
compartment; the high counter; the shelves at the back full of parcels,
like those of a left-luggage room at a railway station; the heavy,
baggy, big-faced man in shirt-sleeves with a long cigar held between his
teeth at the corner of his frothy mouth; and then my own hurried
breathing; my thin fingers opening the tissue paper and holding out the
miniature; the man's coarse hands fumbling it; his casual air as he
looked at it and cheapened it, as if it had been a common thing scarcely
worthy of consideration.
"What's this 'ere old-fashion'd thing? Portrait of your
great-grandmother? Hum! Not 'arf bad-looking fice, neither."
I think my eyes must have been blazing like hot coals. I am sure I bit
my lips (I felt them damp and knew they were bleeding) to prevent myself
from flinging out at the man in spite of my necessity.
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