“Cor, dear.” Merrick shook his head. “You have got it bad, ain’t you?” “Shut up.” “I’m just saying. Round his little finger.” “Shut up.” “Pining, that’s what you are. I didn’t recognise it at first, but—” “Shut up, you repulsive inebriate, or I will dismiss you without a character. And go to bed. We’re up early tomorrow.”
