At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles.
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