“Claire?”
“Ah! The pore little angel, crying ’er ruddy eyes out. The gentleman was saying all about it.”
“What gentleman?”
“A gentleman come to the back door and told that perisher all about how the pore little thing was howling and weeping and all, thinking ’e was me.”
“Have you had a quarrel with Claire?”
“We ’ad words. I got to see ’er.”
“You shall. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk. Why shouldn’t I walk?”
“Come along then.”
In spite of his assurance, however, Hash found his cramped limbs hard to steer. Sam had to lend an arm, and their progress was slow.