"Yes, madam. If we were in a lonely place he would strike me, so that I should, from the injury he would do me, be unable to follow him, but that in the public streets he dare-not do, for he fears some man would interfere and put a stop to his cruelty."
"There, my good woman," said Mrs. Lovett, "there are five shillings for you. Go now, for I expect to be busy very shortly."
With a profusion of thanks, that while they lasted were quite stunning, poor Mrs. Flukes left the pie-shop and hobbled homewards. When she was gone the colour went and came several times upon the face of Mrs. Lovett, and then she repeated to herself—"Flukes—a tailor!"
"Pies ready?" said a voice at the door.
"Not quite."
"How long, mum; we want half a dozen of the muttons to-day."
"In about ten minutes."
"Thank you, I'll look in again."
"Flukes—a tailor? Indeed!—Flukes—a tailor? Well I ought to have expected something like this. What a glorious thing it is really to care for no one but oneself after all. I shall lose my faith in—in—fine men."