“But you don’t like a thing of yours to be taken.”
“No, that’s quite a different thing; what’s stealing handkerchiefs, and that kind of thing, to do with taking my book; there’s a wide difference—don’t you see?”
“Yes, I see.”
“Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I’m glad you do. Would you like to look at the book?”
“Well, I think I should.”
“Honour bright?” said the apple-woman, looking me in the eyes.
“Honour bright,” said I, looking the apple-woman in the eyes.
“Well then, dear, here it is,” said she, taking it from under her cloak; “read it as long as you like, only get a little farther into the booth—Don’t sit so near the edge—you might—”
I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her chair round, almost confronted me. I commenced reading the book, and was soon engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or twice I lifted up my eyes, the apple-woman was still confronting me: at last my eyes began to ache, whereupon I returned the book to the apple-woman, and giving her another tanner, walked away.