Sv - 01 - Sergeant Verity And the Cracksman
“The hands were soft and plump as a dowager's, though marked on their backs by a scattering of pale brown freckles. Kite's head, round, plump and bald, the eyes and mouth pouched by ample flesh, reminded Verney Dacre of the old white bulldog curled up on the parlour chair at the Hope and Anchor. Then Kite turned to Dacre.
"You tell me, sir, what man o' business don't suffer the same hardships. Why, let me see, it must be ten years since I was last on a racecourse—me, Sealskin Kite!—and more th...an that since I saw the inside of a gaff." He stared at Dacre defiantly, as though inviting contradiction.
Mrs Kite, the third and most grotesque member of the trio, laid a hand on her husband's arm.
"You're a wearing old soul to a 'ooman," she said, winking confidentially at Dacre, "and that's the truth." Dacre brushed his moustache self-consciously with his right hand and gave a slight, unsmiling acknowledgement of her affability. In her black bonnet and shawl she had a complexion that was brown and wrinkled as a nut by contrast with Kite's pale smoothness.MoreLess
"You tell me, sir, what man o' business don't suffer the same hardships. Why, let me see, it must be ten years since I was last on a racecourse—me, Sealskin Kite!—and more th...an that since I saw the inside of a gaff." He stared at Dacre defiantly, as though inviting contradiction.
Mrs Kite, the third and most grotesque member of the trio, laid a hand on her husband's arm.
"You're a wearing old soul to a 'ooman," she said, winking confidentially at Dacre, "and that's the truth." Dacre brushed his moustache self-consciously with his right hand and gave a slight, unsmiling acknowledgement of her affability. In her black bonnet and shawl she had a complexion that was brown and wrinkled as a nut by contrast with Kite's pale smoothness.MoreLess
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