The
shop windows were as full as ever, the toilettes of the women as
wonderful. Mankind, though khaki-clad, was plentiful. The narrow
thoroughfare was so crowded that his taxicab went only at a
snail's crawl, and occasionally he heard scraps of conversation.
Two pretty girls were talking to two young men in uniform.
"What a rag last night! I didn't get home till three!"
"Dick never got home at all. Still missing!"
"Evie and I are worn out with shopping. Everything's twice as
expensive, but one simply can't do without."
"I shouldn't do without anything, these days. One never knows how
long it may last."
The taxicab moved on, and the Bishop's eyes for a moment were
half-closed. The voices followed him, however. Two women,
leading curled and pampered toy dogs, were talking at the corner
of the street.
"Sugar, my dear?" one was saying. "Why, I laid in nearly a
hundredweight, and I can always get what I want now. The
shopkeepers know that they have to have your custom after the war.
It's only the people who can't afford to buy much at a time who
are really inconvenienced."
"Of course, it's awfully sad about the war, and all that, but one
has to think of oneself. Harry told me last night that after
paying all the income tax he couldn't get out of, and excess
profits; he is still--"
The voices dropped to a whisper. The Bishop thrust his head out
of the window.
"Drive me to Tothill Street, Westminster," he directed. "As
quickly as possible, please.
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