“You’ve got Clark Gable out there queueing up for a spud pie and a basin o’ peas!’ The girl holding out her hand for change from half-a-crown turned round to the crowded shop and winked. ‘Dimples ’n all. Wouldn’t mind finding one like him in me Christmas cracker!’ The cotton mill across the street from the pie shop had closed its gates for the day, and the weavers were clattering in to buy a two-pound loaf or a bag of barm-cakes to spread with margarine and jam for their tea, if money wouldn’t r...un to fish and chips again that week. Behind the wide counter Daisy Bell passed over the crusty loaves, standing them first on a layer of tissue paper which she twisted swiftly into little points. ‘I’m glad I put me curlers in last night,’ she confided, jerking her head towards the window. ‘D’you reckon it really is Clark Gable? Do you suppose he saw me beauty when he was passing and wants me for his next film?’ She stood first on one foot, then the other. It had been a long day, starting for Daisy at half-past four that morning, and once the rush was over she was looking forward to having her tea, then going to the second-house pictures.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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