Эмиль Золя
The Fat and the Thin
In the midst of the uproar, Mademoiselle Saget appeared on the threshold, craning her neck forward. Finding all the doors open, she had come in to offer her services to old Madame Mehudin. She spied about and listened, and expressed extreme pity for these poor women, who had no one to defend them. The commissary, however, had begun to read the copies with a grave air. The frequent repetition of such words as “tyrannically,” “liberticide,” “unconstitutional,” and “revolutionary” made him frown; and on reading the sentence, “When the hour strikes, the guilty shall fall,” he tapped his fingers on the paper and said: “This is very serious, very serious indeed.”
Thereupon he gave the books to one of his men, and went off. Claire, who had hitherto not shown herself, now opened her door, and watched the police officers go down the stairs. And afterwards she came into her sister’s bedroom, which she had not entered for a year. Mademoiselle Saget appeared to be on the best of terms with La Normande, and was hanging over her in a caressing way, bringing the shawl forward to cover her the better, and listening to her angry indignation with an expression of the deepest sympathy.
“You wretched coward!” exclaimed Claire, planting herself in front of her sister.
La Normande sprang up, quivering with anger, and let the shawl fall to the floor.
“Ah, you’ve been playing the spy, have you?” she screamed. “Dare to repeat what you’ve just said!”
“You wretched coward!” repeated Claire, in still more insulting tones than before.
Thereupon La Normande struck Claire with all her force; and in return Claire, turning terribly pale, sprang upon her sister and dug her nails into her neck. They struggled together for a moment or two, tearing at each other’s hair and trying to choke one another. Claire, fragile though she was, pushed La Normande backward with such tremendous violence that they both fell against the wardrobe, smashing the mirror on its front. Muche was roaring, and old Madame Mehudin called to Mademoiselle Saget to come and help her separate the sisters. Claire, however, shook herself free.
“Coward! Coward!” she cried; “I’ll go and tell the poor fellow that it is you who have betrayed him.”
Her mother, however, blocked the doorway, and would not let her pass, while La Normande seized her from behind, and then, Mademoiselle Saget coming to the assistance of the other two, the three of them dragged Claire into her bedroom and locked the door upon her, in spite of all her frantic resistance. In her rage she tried to kick the door down, and smashed everything in the room. Soon afterwards, however, nothing could be heard except a furious scratching, the sound of metal scarping at the plaster. The girl was trying to loosen the door hinges with the points of her scissors.
“She would have murdered me if she had had a knife,” said La Normande, looking about for her clothes, in order to dress herself. “She’ll be doing something dreadful, you’ll see, one of these days, with that jealousy of hers! We mustn’t let her get out on any account: she’d bring the whole neighbourhood down upon us!”
Mademoiselle Saget went off in all haste. She reached the corner of the Rue Pirouette just as the commissary of police was re-entering the side passage of the Quenu-Gradelles’ house. She grasped the situation at once, and entered the shop with such glistening eyes that Lisa enjoined silence by a gesture which called her attention to the presence of Quenu, who was hanging up some pieces of salt pork. As soon as he had returned to the kitchen, the old maid in a low voice described the scenes that had just taken place at the Mehudins’. Lisa, as she bent over the counter, with her hand resting on a dish of larded veal, listened to her with the happy face of one who triumphs. Then, as a customer entered the shop, and asked for a couple of pig’s trotters, Lisa wrapped them up, and handed them over with a thoughtful air.
“For my own part, I bear La Normande no ill-will,” she said to Mademoiselle Saget, when they were alone again. “I used to be very fond of her, and have always been sorry that other people made mischief between us. The proof that I’ve no animosity against her is here in this photograph, which I saved from falling into the hands of the police, and which I’m quite ready to give her back if she will come and ask me for it herself.”
She took the photograph out of her pocket as she spoke. Mademoiselle Saget scrutinised it and sniggered as she read the inscription, “Louise, to her dear friend Florent.”
“I’m not sure you’ll be acting wisely,” she said in her cutting voice. “You’d do better to keep it.”
“No, no,” replied Lisa; “I’m anxious for all this silly nonsense to come to an end. To-day is the day of reconciliation. We’ve had enough unpleasantness, and the neighbourhood’s now going to be quiet and peaceful again.”
“Well, well, shall I go and tell La Normande that you are expecting her?” asked the old maid.
“Yes; I shall be very glad if you will.”
Mademoiselle Saget then made her way back to the Rue Pirouette, and greatly frightened the fish-girl by telling her that she had just seen her photograph in Lisa’s pocket. She could not, however, at once prevail upon her to comply with her rival’s terms. La Normande propounded conditions of her own. She would go, but Madame Quenu must come to the door of the shop to receive her. Thus the old maid was obliged to make another couple of journeys between the two rivals before their meeting could be satisfactorily arranged. At last, however, to her great delight, she succeeded in negotiating the peace which was destined to cause so much talk and excitement. As she passed Claire’s door for the last time she still heard the sound of the scissors scraping away at the plaster.
When she had at last carried a definite reply to Madame Quenu, Mademoiselle Saget hurried off to find Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette; and all three of them took up their position on the footway at the corner of the fish market, just in front of the pork shop. Here they would be certain to have a good view of every detail of the meeting. They felt extremely impatient, and while pretending to chat together kept an anxious look-out in the direction of the Rue Pirouette, along which La Normande must come. The news of the reconciliation was already travelling through the markets, and while some saleswomen stood up behind their stalls trying to get a view of what was taking place, others, still more inquisitive, actually left their places and took up a position in the covered way. Every eye in the markets was directed upon the pork shop; the whole neighbourhood was on the tip-toe of expectation.
It was a very solemn affair. When La Normande at last turned the corner of the Rue Pirouette the excitement was so great that the women held their breath.
“She has got her diamonds on,” murmured La Sarriette.
“Just look how she stalks along,” added Madame Lecoeur; “the stuck-up creature!”
The beautiful Norman was, indeed, advancing with the mien of a queen who condescends to make peace. She had made a most careful toilet, frizzing her hair and turning up a corner of her apron to display her cashmere skirt. She had even put on a new and rich lace bow. Conscious that the whole market was staring at her, she assumed a still haughtier air as she approached the pork shop. When she reached the door she stopped.
“Now it’s beautiful Lisa’s turn,” remarked Mademoiselle Saget. “Mind you pay attention.”
Beautiful Lisa smilingly quitted her counter. She crossed the shop-floor at a leisurely pace, and came and offered her hand to the beautiful Norman. She also was smartly dressed, with her dazzling linen and scrupulous neatness. A murmur ran through the crowd of fish-wives, all their heads gathered close together, and animated chatter ensued. The two women had gone inside the shop, and the crepines in the window prevented them from being clearly seen. However, they seemed to be conversing affectionately, addressing pretty compliments to one another.
“See!” suddenly exclaimed Mademoiselle Saget, “the beautiful Norman’s buying something! What is it she’s buying? It’s a chitterling, I believe! Ah! Look! look! You didn’t see it, did you? Well, beautiful Lisa just gave her the photograph; she slipped it into her hand with the chitterling.”
Fresh salutations were then seen to pass between the two women; and the beautiful Lisa, exceeding even the courtesies which had been agreed upon, accompanied the beautiful Norman to the footway. There they stood laughing together, exhibiting themselves to the neighbourhood like a couple of good friends. The markets were quite delighted; and the saleswomen returned to their stalls, declaring that everything had passed off extremely well.
Mademoiselle Saget, however, detained Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette. The drama was not over yet. All three kept their eyes fixed on the house opposite with such keen curiosity that they seemed trying to penetrate the very walls. To pass the time away they once more began to talk of the beautiful Norman.
“She’s without a lover now,” remarked Madame Lecoeur.
“Oh! she’s got Monsieur Lebigre,” replied La Sarriette, with a laugh.
“But surely Monsieur Lebigre won’t have anything more to say to her.”
Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. “Ah, you don’t know him,” she said. “He won’t care a straw about all this business. He knows what he’s about, and La Normande is rich. They’ll come together in a couple of months, you’ll see. Old Madame Mehudin’s been scheming to bring about their marriage for a long time past.”
“Well, anyway,” retorted the butter dealer, “the commissary found Florent at her lodgings.”
“No, no, indeed; I’m sure I never told you that. The long spindle-shanks had gone way,” replied the old maid. She paused to take a breath; then resumed in an indignant tone, “What distressed me most was to hear of all the abominable things that the villain had taught little Muche. You’d really never believe it. There was a whole bundle of papers.”
“What sort of abominable things?” asked La Sarriette with interest.
“Oh, all kinds of filth. The commissary said there was quite sufficient there to hang him. The fellow’s a perfect monster! To go and demoralise a child! Why, it’s almost past believing! Little Muche is certainly a scamp, but that’s no reason why he should be given over to the ‘Reds,’ is it?”
“Certainly not,” assented the two others.
“However, all these mysterious goings-on will come to an end now. You remember my telling you once that there was some strange goings-on at the Quenus’? Well, you see, I was right in my conclusions, wasn’t I? Thank God, however, the neighbourhood will now be able to breathe easily. It was high time strong steps were taken, for things had got to such a pitch that one actually felt afraid of being murdered in broad daylight. There was no pleasure in life. All the dreadful stories and reports one heard were enough to worry one to death. And it was all owing to that man, that dreadful Florent. Now beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman have sensibly made friends again. It was their duty to do so for the sake of the peace and quietness of us all. Everything will go on satisfactorily now, you’ll find. Ah! there’s poor Monsieur Quenu laughing yonder!”
Quenu had again come on to the footway, and was joking with Madame Taboureau’s little servant. He seemed quite gay and skittish that morning. He took hold of the little servant’s hands, and squeezed her fingers so tightly, in the exuberance of his spirits, that he made her cry out. Lisa had the greatest trouble to get him to go back into the kitchen. She was impatiently pacing about the shop, fearing lest Florent should make his appearance; and she called to her husband to come away, dreading a meeting between him and his brother.
“She’s getting quite vexed,” said Mademoiselle Saget. “Poor Monsieur Quenu, you see, knows nothing at all about what’s taking place. Just look at him there, laughing like a child! Madame Taboureau, you know, said that she should have nothing more to do with the Quenus if they persisted in bringing themselves into discredit by keeping that Florent with them.”
“Well, now, I suppose, they will stick to the fortune,” remarked Madame Lecoeur.
“Oh, no, indeed, my dear. The other one has had his share already.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
“Oh, it’s clear enough, that is!” replied the old maid after a momentary hesitation, but without giving any proof of her assertions. “He’s had even more than his share. The Quenus will be several thousand francs out of pocket. Money flies, you know, when a man has such vices as he has. I dare say you don’t know that there was another woman mixed up in it all. Yes, indeed, old Madame Verlaque, the wife of the former inspector; you know the sallow-faced thing well enough.”
The others protested that it surely wasn’t possible. Why, Madame Verlaque was positively hideous!
“What! do you think me a liar?” cried Mademoiselle Saget, with angry indignation. “Why, her letters to him have been found, a whole pile of letters, in which she asks for money, ten and twenty francs at a time. There’s no doubt at all about it. I’m quite certain in my own mind that they killed the husband between them.”
La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur were convinced; but they were beginning to get very impatient. They had been waiting on the footway for more than an hour, and feared that somebody might be robbing their stalls during their long absence. So Mademoiselle Saget began to give them some further interesting information to keep them from going off. Florent could not have taken to flight, said she; he was certain to return, and it would be very interesting to see him arrested. Then she went on to describe the trap that had been laid for him, while Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette continued scrutinising the house from top to bottom, keeping watch upon every opening, and at each moment expecting to see the hats of the detectives appear at one of the doors or windows.
“Who would ever imagine, now, that the place was full of police?” observed the butter dealer.
“Oh! they’re in the garret at the top,” said the old maid. “They’ve left the window open, you see, just as they found it. Look! I think I can see one of them hiding behind the pomegranate on the balcony.”
The others excitedly craned out their necks, but could see nothing.
“Ah, no, it’s only a shadow,” continued Mademoiselle Saget. “The little curtains even are perfectly still. The detectives must be sitting down in the room, and keeping quiet.”
Just at that moment the women caught sight of Gavard coming out of the fish market with a thoughtful air. They looked at him with glistening eyes, without speaking. They had drawn close to one another, and stood there rigid in their drooping skirts. The poultry dealer came up to them.
“Have you seen Florent go by?” he asked.
They replied that they had not.
“I want to speak to him at once,” continued Gavard. “He isn’t in the fish market. He must have gone up to his room. But you would have seen him, though, if he had.”
The women had turned rather pale. They still kept looking at each other with a knowing expression, their lips twitching slightly every now and then. “We have only been here some five minutes, said Madame Lecoeur unblushingly, as her brother-in-law still stood hesitating.
“Well, then, I’ll go upstairs and see. I’ll risk the five flights,” rejoined Gavard with a laugh.
La Sarriette stepped forward as though she wished to detain him, but her aunt took hold of her arm and drew her back.
“Let him alone, you big simpleton!” she whispered. “It’s the best thing that can happen to him. It’ll teach him to treat us with respect in future.”
“He won’t say again that I ate tainted meat,” muttered Mademoiselle Saget in a low tone.
They said nothing more. La Sarriette was very red; but the two others still remained quite yellow. But they now averted their heads, feeling confused by each other’s looks, and at a loss what to do with their hands, which they buried beneath their aprons. Presently their eyes instinctively came back to the house, penetrating the walls, as it were, following Gavard in his progress up the stairs. When they imagined that he had entered Florent’s room they again exchanged furtive glances. La Sarriette laughed nervously. All at once they fancied they could see the window curtains moving, and this led them to believe that a struggle was taking place. But the house-front remained as tranquil as ever in the sunshine; and another quarter of an hour of unbroken quietness passed away, during which the three women’s nervous excitement became more and more intense. They were beginning to feel quite faint when a man hurriedly came out of the passage and ran off to get a cab. Five minutes later Gavard appeared, followed by two police officers. Lisa, who had stepped out on to the footway on observing the cab, hastily hurried back into the shop.
Gavard was very pale. The police had searched him upstairs, and had discovered the revolver and cartridge case in his possession. Judging by the commissary’s stern expression on hearing his name, the poultry dealer deemed himself lost. This was a terrible ending to his plotting that had never entered into his calculations. The Tuileries would never forgive him! His legs gave way beneath him as though the firing party was already awaiting him outside. When he got into the street, however, his vanity lent him sufficient strength to walk erect; and he even managed to force a smile, as he knew the market people were looking at him. They should see him die bravely, he resolved.
However, La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur rushed up to him and anxiously inquired what was the matter; and the butter dealer began to cry, while La Sarriette embraced her uncle, manifesting the deepest emotion. As Gavard held her clasped in his arms, he slipped a key into her hand, and whispered in her ear: “Take everything, and burn the papers.”
Then he got into the cab with the same mien as he would have ascended the scaffold. As the vehicle disappeared round the corner of the Rue Pierre Lescot, Madame Lecoeur observed La Sarriette trying to hide the key in her pocket.
“It’s of no use you trying that little game on me, my dear,” she exclaimed, clenching her teeth; “I saw him slip it into your hand. As true as there’s a God in Heaven, I’ll go to the gaol and tell him everything, if you don’t treat me properly.”
“Of course I shall treat you properly, aunt, dear,” replied La Sarriette, with an embarrassed smile.
“Very well, then, let us go to his rooms at once. It’s of no use to give the police time to poke their dirty hands in the cupboards.”
Mademoiselle Saget, who had been listening with gleaming eyes, followed them, running along in the rear as quickly as her short legs could carry her. She had no thought, now, of waiting for Florent. From the Rue Rambuteau to the Rue de la Cossonnerie she manifested the most humble obsequiousness, and volunteered to explain matters to Madame Leonce, the doorkeeper.
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” the butter dealer curtly replied.
However, on reaching the house a preliminary parley – as Mademoiselle Saget had opined – proved to be necessary. Madame Leonce refused to allow the women to go up to her tenant’s room. She put on an expression of severe austerity, and seemed greatly shocked by the sight of La Sarriette’s loosely fastened fichu. However, after the old maid had whispered a few words to her and she was shown the key, she gave way. When they got upstairs she surrendered the rooms and furniture to the others article by article, apparently as heartbroken as if she had been compelled to show a party of burglars the place where her own money was secreted.
“There, take everything and have done with it!” she cried at last, throwing herself into an arm-chair.
La Sarriette was already eagerly trying the key in the locks of different closets. Madame Lecoeur, all suspicion, pressed her so closely that she exclaimed: “Really, aunt, you get in my way. Do leave my arms free, at any rate.”
At last they succeeded in opening a wardrobe opposite the window, between the fireplace and the bed. And then all four women broke into exclamations. On the middle shelf lay some ten thousand francs in gold, methodically arranged in little piles. Gavard, who had prudently deposited the bulk of his fortune in the hands of a notary, had kept this sum by him for the purposes of the coming outbreak. He had been wont to say with great solemnity that his contribution to the revolution was quite ready. The fact was that he had sold out certain stock, and every night took an intense delight in contemplating those ten thousand francs, gloating over them, and finding something quite roysterous and insurrectional in their appearance. Sometimes when he was in bed he dreamed that a fight was going on in the wardrobe; he could hear guns being fired there, paving-stones being torn up and piled into barricades, and voices shouting in clamorous triumph; and he said to himself that it was his money fighting against the Government.
La Sarriette, however, had stretched out her hands with a cry of delight.
“Paws off, little one!” exclaimed Madame Lecoeur in a hoarse voice.
As she stood there in the reflection of the gold, she looked yellower than ever – her face discoloured by biliousness, her eyes glowing feverishly from the liver complaint which was secretly undermining her. Behind her Mademoiselle Saget on tip-toe was gazing ecstatically into the wardrobe, and Madame Leonce had now risen from her seat, and was growling sulkily.
“My uncle said I was to take everything,” declared the girl.
“And am I to have nothing, then; I who have done so much for him?” cried the doorkeeper.
Madame Lecoeur was almost choking with excitement. She pushed the others away, and clung hold of the wardrobe, screaming: “It all belongs to me! I am his nearest relative. You are a pack of thieves, you are! I’d rather throw it all out of the window than see you have it!”
Then silence fell, and they all four stood glowering at each other. The kerchief that La Sarriette wore over her breast was now altogether unfastened, and she displayed her bosom heaving with warm life, her moist red lips, her rosy nostrils. Madame Lecoeur grew still more sour as she saw how lovely the girl looked in the excitement of her longing desire.
“Well,” she said in a lower tone, “we won’t fight about it. You are his niece, and I’ll divide the money with you. We will each take a pile in turn.”
Thereupon they pushed the other two aside. The butter dealer took the first pile, which at once disappeared within her skirts. Then La Sarriette took a pile. They kept a close watch upon one another, ready to fight at the slightest attempt at cheating. Their fingers were thrust forward in turn, the hideous knotted fingers of the aunt and the white fingers of the niece, soft and supple as silk. Slowly they filled their pockets. When there was only one pile left, La Sarriette objected to her aunt taking it, as she had commenced; and she suddenly divided it between Mademoiselle Saget and Madame Leonce, who had watched them pocket the gold with feverish impatience.
“Much obliged to you!” snarled the doorkeeper. “Fifty francs for having coddled him up with tisane and broth! The old deceiver told me he had no relatives!”
Before locking the wardrobe up again, Madame Lecoeur searched it thoroughly from top to bottom. It contained all the political works which were forbidden admission into the country, the pamphlets printed at Brussels, the scandalous histories of the Bonapartes, and the foreign caricatures ridiculing the Emperor. One of Gavard’s greatest delights was to shut himself up with a friend, and show him all these compromising things.
“He told me that I was to burn all the papers,” said La Sarriette.
“Oh, nonsense! we’ve no fire, and it would take up too long. The police will soon be here! We must get out of this!”
They all four hastened off; but they had not reached the bottom of the stairs before the police met them, and made Madame Leonce return with them upstairs. The three others, making themselves as small as possible, hurriedly escaped into the street. They walked away in single file at a brisk pace; the aunt and niece considerably incommoded by the weight of their drooping pockets. Mademoiselle Saget had kept her fifty francs in her closed fist, and remained deep in thought, brooding over a plan for extracting something more from the heavy pockets in front of her.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, as they reached the corner of the fish market, “we’ve got here at a lucky moment. There’s Florent yonder, just going to walk into the trap.”
Florent, indeed, was just then returning to the markets after his prolonged perambulation. He went into his office to change his coat, and then set about his daily duties, seeing that the marble slabs were properly washed, and slowly strolling along the alleys. He fancied that the fish-wives looked at him in a somewhat strange manner; they chuckled too, and smiled significantly as he passed them. Some new vexation, he thought, was in store for him. For some time past those huge, terrible women had not allowed him a day’s peace. However, as he passed the Mehudins’ stall he was very much surprised to hear the old woman address him in a honeyed tone: “There’s just been a gentleman inquiring for you, Monsieur Florent; a middle-aged gentleman. He’s gone to wait for you in your room.”
As the old fish-wife, who was squatting, all of a heap, on her chair, spoke these words, she felt such a delicious thrill of satisfied vengeance that her huge body fairly quivered. Florent, still doubtful, glanced at the beautiful Norman; but the young woman, now completely reconciled with her mother, turned on her tap and slapped her fish, pretending not to hear what was being said.
“You are quite sure?” said Florent to Mother Mehudin.
“Oh, yes, indeed. Isn’t that so, Louise?” said the old woman in a shriller voice.
Florent concluded that it must be some one who wanted to see him about the great business, and he resolved to go up to his room. He was just about to leave the pavilion, when, happening to turn round, he observed the beautiful Norman watching him with a grave expression on her face. Then he passed in front of the three gossips.
“Do you notice that there’s no one in the pork shop?” remarked Mademoiselle Saget. “Beautiful Lisa’s not the woman to compromise herself.”
The shop was, indeed, quite empty. The front of the house was still bright with sunshine; the building looked like some honest, prosperous pile guilelessly warming itself in the morning rays. Up above, the pomegranate on the balcony was in full bloom. As Florent crossed the roadway he gave a friendly nod to Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, who appeared to be enjoying the fresh air on the doorstep of the latter’s establishment. They returned his greeting with a smile. Florent was then about to enter the side-passage, when he fancied he saw Auguste’s pale face hastily vanishing from its dark and narrow depths. Thereupon he turned back and glanced into the shop to make sure that the middle-aged gentleman was not waiting for him there. But he saw no one but Mouton, who sat on a block displaying his double chin and bristling whiskers, and gazed at him defiantly with his great yellow eyes. And when he had at last made up his mind to enter the passage, Lisa’s face appeared behind the little curtain of a glazed door at the back of the shop.
A hush had fallen over the fish market. All the huge paunches and bosoms held their breath, waiting till Florent should disappear from sight. Then there was an uproarious outbreak; and the bosoms heaved wildly and the paunches nearly burst with malicious delight. The joke had succeeded. Nothing could be more comical. As old Mother Mehudin vented her merriment she shook and quivered like a wine-skin that is being emptied. Her story of the middle-aged gentleman went the round of the market, and the fish-wives found it extremely amusing. At last the long spindle-shanks was collared, and they would no longer always have his miserable face and gaol-bird’s expression before their eyes. They all wished him a pleasant journey, and trusted that they might get a handsome fellow for their next inspector. And in their delight they rushed about from one stall to another, and felt inclined to dance round their marble slabs like a lot of holiday-making schoolgirls. The beautiful Norman, however, watched this outbreak of joy in a rigid attitude, not daring to move for fear she should burst into tears; and she kept her hands pressed upon a big skate to cool her feverish excitement.
“You see how those Mehudins turn their backs upon him now that he’s come to grief,” said Madame Lecoeur.
“Well, and they’re quite right too,” replied Mademoiselle Saget. “Besides, matters are settled now, my dear, and we’re to have no more disputes. You’ve every reason to be satisfied; leave the others to act as they please.”
“It’s only the old woman who is laughing,” La Sarriette remarked; “La Normande looks anything but happy.”
Meantime, upstairs in his bedroom, Florent allowed himself to be taken as unresistingly as a sheep. The police officers sprang roughly upon him, expecting, no doubt, that they would meet with a desperate resistance. He quietly begged them to leave go of him; and then sat down on a chair while they packed up his papers, and the red scarves, armlets, and banners. He did not seem at all surprised at this ending; indeed, it was something of a relief to him, though he would not frankly confess it. But he suffered acutely at thought of the bitter hatred which had sent him into that room; he recalled Auguste’s pale face and the sniggering looks of the fish-wives; he bethought himself of old Madame Mehudin’s words, La Normande’s silence, and the empty shop downstairs. The markets were leagued against him, he reflected; the whole neighbourhood had conspired to hand him over to the police. The mud of those greasy streets had risen up all around to overwhelm him!
