Hornblower paused, spoon and fork in hand, looking from the chops to Susie and back again. Then he put down the spoon and thrust his right hand into his trouser pocket.
“There’s no way in which you can have one of these chops?” he said.
“Me, sir? Of course not, sir.”
“Now here’s half a crown.”
“Half a crown, sir!”
That was more than a day’s wages for a labourer.
“I want a promise from you, Susie.”
“Sir—sir—!”
Susie’s hands were behind her.
“Take this, and promise me that the first chance that comes your way, the moment Mrs Mason lets you out, you’ll buy yourself something to eat. Fill that wretched little belly of yours. Faggots and Pease pudding, pig’s trotters, all the things you like. Promise me.”