Be off with you; and if you ain't back in half an hour, and if the dinner ain't good, first I'll lick you till you don't want to breathe, and then I'll go straight to the police and blow the gaff.

Do you understand that, Morris Finsbury?
Because if you do, you had better jump.' The idea smiled even upon the wretched Morris, who was sick with famine.
He sped upon his errand, and returned to find John still nursing his foot in the armchair.
'What would you like to drink, Johnny ?' he enquired soothingly.
'Fizz,' said John.

'Some of the poppy stuff from the end bin; a bottle of the old port that Michael liked, to follow; and see and don't shake the port.

And look here, light the fire--and the gas, and draw down the blinds; it's cold and it's getting dark.

And then you can lay the cloth.
And, I say--here, you! bring me down some clothes.' The room looked comparatively habitable by the time the dinner came; and the dinner itself was good: strong gravy soup, fillets of sole, mutton chops and tomato sauce, roast beef done rare with roast potatoes, cabinet pudding, a piece of Chester cheese, and some early celery: a meal uncompromisingly British, but supporting.
'Thank God!' said John, his nostrils sniffing wide, surprised by joy into the unwonted formality of grace.