Publisher's Synopsis
Mrs. Mappin surveyed me. -Ah!- she sighed-she was given to sighing. -He's a good 'un, is Private Wood.- The inference was plain. There was little hope of my becoming such a good 'un. In any case, my natty grey tweeds were against me. One could never make an orderliesque impression in those tweeds. -Better take your jacket off, - sighed Mrs. Mappin. I did so, chose a dishcloth, and started to dry a pyramid of wet plates. For a space Mrs. Mappin meditated, her hands in soapy water. Then she withdrew them. -I think, - she sighed, -you an' me could do with a cup of tea.- And presently I was having tea with Mrs. Mappin.
