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The Lodger by Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes
page 12 of 323 (03%)
have no swearing in her presence--he lit the hall gas full-flare.

"How can we hope to get lodgers if they can't even see the card?"
he shouted angrily.

And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the
gas, the oblong card, though not the word "Apartments" printed on
it, could be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned
fanlight above the front door.

Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife,
and then, sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little
banked-up fire. It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire
for many a long day, and this exertion of marital authority made
him feel better. A man has to assert himself sometimes, and he,
Bunting, had not asserted himself enough lately.

A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting's pale face. She was not
used to be flouted in this way. For Bunting, when not thoroughly
upset, was the mildest of men.

She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible
touch of dust here, straightening a piece of furniture there.

But her hands trembled--they trembled with excitement, with
self-pity, with anger. A penny? It was dreadful--dreadful to
have to worry about a penny! But they had come to the point when
one has to worry about pennies. Strange that her husband didn't
realise that.

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