“He didn’t look at all like my idea of a publican. He was pale and lean, rather than round and rubicund, and looked very much like someone who would approve of John Knox’s austere precepts. The perfect dour Scotsman, one would have thought. I wondered how he had ended up in the beer business, until his wife entered carrying a tray of glasses. “I’ve polished them, Sam. That machine has got to be repaired. It leaves them all streaky.” She spoke with a lovely burr. It matched her face, for Mrs. Bel...l was a bonnie lass indeed. Younger than her husband, she had roses in her cheeks that would have sent Robert Burns into ecstasies of comparison. Her hair was still black and lustrous, her figure buxom without being in the least blowsy. Samuel’s face lighted up when he saw her. They had been married—how long, I wondered?—and he looked like a honeymooner. I had just come in and was the only customer in the pub. Appetizing smells hinted that lunch was being prepared, but the only edibles on display at the moment were packets of crisps and a tray of Scotch eggs in a glass-fronted cooler.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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