He whistled as he approached her and flung a small package at her feet. “A Happy Christmas to you,” he said. “I had a silver piece in my pocket yesterday and it burnt a hole. There’s a new handkerchief for your head.”
She had meant to be curt and silent on meeting him, but his introduction made it difficult for her. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your money all the same.”
“That doesn’t worry me, I’m used to it,” he told her, and he looked her up and down in the cool offensive way of his, and whistled a tuneless song.
Jamaica Inn continues dee-lish.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
Kanlaon 