'
'Mrs. Snowdon?'
'Yes. The mother has accused her. There's a man concerned in the
affair. One of the men showed me a report in to-day's paper; I
didn't buy one, because we shall have it in the Sunday paper
to-morrow. Nice business, oh?'
'That's for the old woman's money, I'll wager!' exclaimed Hewett, in
an awed voice. 'I can believe it of Clem; if ever there was a
downright bad 'un! Was she living in the Close?'
'Mrs. Snowdon wasn't. Somewhere in Hoxton. No doubt it was for the
money--if the charge is true. We won't speak of it before the
children.'
'Think of that, now! Many's the time I've looked at Clem Peckover
and said to myself, "You'll come to no good end, my lady!" She was a
fierce an' bad 'un.'
Sidney nodded, and went off for his walk with Amy. . . .
It was a difficult thing to keep any room in the house orderly, and
Sidney, as part of his struggle against the downward tendency in all
about him, against the forces of chaos, often did the work of
housemaid in the parlour; a little laxity in the rules which made
this a sacred corner, and there would have been no spot where he
could rest. With some suceess, too, he had resisted the habit
prevalent in working-class homes of prolonging Saturday evening's
occupations until the early hours of Sunday morning.
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