reply: "We're just a low vulgar crowd. Rogues and vagabonds, they called us in Shakespeare's time—am I right, Lanvin? We have no homes, we live in dingy lodging-houses in every middle-sized town in England, we know which landlady counts the potatoes, which theatre's full of fleas, and which has a roof that leaks on the stage when it rains. None of your high-class West End stuff for us—we lure the coppers, the orange peel, and the monkey-nuts, and we spend our one-day-a-week holiday chewing stale sandwiches in Sunday trains."
