“I should very much like to, Stukeley.”
“I don’t doubt. And you’re the one—— That’s like you poets. You’re a mangy lot, Maggy. I see you so plainly, Maggy, telling my wife. Like a cat making love. In the twilight. Oh, I’ve seen you.”
“Go on, Stukeley.”
“You come crawling round my wife. I’ve seen you look at her. I’ve seen you shake hands with her. I’ve seen your eyes. Doesn’t she make your mouth water? Wouldn’t you like that hair all over your face? Eh? Eh? And her arms round you. Eh?”
“Stukeley,” said Margaret, “I’d advise you to stop. Stop now.”
“Wouldn’t you like to——?”
“Stop.”
“I know you would. Poems, eh? I’ve read a lot of your poems to her, Maggy.”
“Were you looking for my purse?”
“No, Maggy. But I thought you needed watching. I don’t want any mangy poet crawling round my wife. So I just watched you, Maggy.”