Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife's extended hand for
some time before he slapped his brow.
"Money! Yes! Yes! I didn't know what you meant."
He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. Mrs Verloc
received it without another word, and stood still till the bell,
clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc's visitor, had quieted down.
Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the notes out for the
purpose. After this inspection she looked round thoughtfully, with an
air of mistrust in the silence and solitude of the house. This abode of
her married life appeared to her as lonely and unsafe as though it had
been situated in the midst of a forest. No receptacle she could think of
amongst the solid, heavy furniture seemed other but flimsy and
particularly tempting to her conception of a house-breaker. It was an
ideal conception, endowed with sublime faculties and a miraculous
insight. The till was not to be thought of it was the first spot a thief
would make for. Mrs Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks,
slipped the pocket-book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus
disposed of her husband's capital, she was rather glad to hear the
clatter of the door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming the fixed,
unabashed stare and the stony expression reserved for the casual
customer, she walked in behind the counter.
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