"I won't be a minute, at least I'll be as short as I can. Now I'm going."
She tripped off, and Leavesley watched her flitting by the grim, business-like houses. She turned for a second, glanced back, and then No. — engulfed her.
Leavesley waited, trying to picture to himself the interview that was in progress. Trying to fancy what Miss Lambert was saying to Mr James Hancock, and what Mr James Hancock was saying to Miss Lambert.
Surely no one in London could have suggested such a proceeding except Verneede, a proceeding so hopelessly insane from a business point of view.
To call on your adversary's solicitor, and tell him to cease because he was worrying your father to death!
Besides, Lambert was the man who ought to cease, because it was Lambert who was the plaintiff.
Punching a man's head, and then telling him to cease!
Mr Leavesley burst into a laugh that caused a passing old lady to hurry on her way.
He waited. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen; what was happening?
It was nearly closing time at the office. Twenty minutes passed. Could James Hancock really have devoured Fanny in a fit of gout and irritation?