“Hang it up somewhere.”
“Where? Everything’s cleared up.”
“Stick it out of the lavatory window and pull the window down on it.”
“Awri, you hold the door open.”
Miriam laughed as Harriett fell into the room.
“Blooming boot-jack.”
“Is it all right in there? Are all the pegs clear? Is the washing-basin all right?”
A faint light came in as Harriett pushed up the frosted pane.
“Here’s a pair of boots all over the floor and your old Zulu hat hanging on a peg. The basin’s all right except a perfectly foul smell of nicotine. It’s pater’s old feather.”
“That doesn’t matter. The men won’t mind that. My old hat can stay. There are ten pegs out here and all the slab, and there’s hardly anything on the hall stand. That’s it. Don’t cram the window down so as to cut the paper. That’ll do. Come on.”