The time had come for the expenditure of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well be supposed the last cab drive of Mrs Verloc's mother's life.

They went out at the shop door.
The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb that "truth can be more cruel than caricature," if such a proverb existed.
Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney carriage drew up on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the box.

This last peculiarity caused some embarrassment.

Catching sight of a hooked iron contrivance protruding from the left sleeve of the man's coat, Mrs Verloc's mother lost suddenly the heroic courage of these days.

She really couldn't trust herself.