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... Frankly  I wish
I  had  never  involved  myself  in  this  uh  matter. That
bloody  grease  has  too much  carbolic in  it. I  was down
to  customs  one  day  last  week.  Stuck  a  broom  handle
into a drum of it, and the grease ate the end  off straight
away.  Besides,  the  stink  is  enough to  knock a  man on
his  bloody  ass.  You  should  take  a  walk  down  by the
port."
  "I'll do no such thing," Marvie screeched.  It is  a mark
of  caste  in  the  Zone  never  to touch  or even  go near
what you are selling. To do so gives  rise to  suspicion of
retailing,  that  is  of  being  a  common peddler.  A good
part  of  the  merchandise  in  the  Zone  is  sold through
street peddlers.
  "Why do you tell me all  this? It's  too sordid!  Let the
retailers worry about it."
  "Oh it's all very well for  you chaps,  you can  scud out
from  under.  But  I  have  a  reputation  to  maintain....
There'll be a spot of bother about this."
  "Do  you  suggest  there  is  something  illegitimate  in
this operation?"
  "Not   illegitimate   exactly.  But   shoddy.  Definitely
shoddy."
  "Oh  go  back  to your  Island before  it falls!  We knew
you  when  you  were  peddling  your  purple  ass   in  the
Plaza pissoirs for five pesetas."
  "And  not  many  takers  either,"  Leif  put in.  He pro-
nounced it ither. This reference to  his Island  origin was
more  than  the  Expeditor  could  stand....  He  was draw-
ing  himself  up,  mobilizing  his  most  frigid impersona-
tion of an English aristocrat, preparing to deliver an icy,
clipped  "crusher,"  but  instead,  a  whining, whimpering,
kicked  dog  snarl  broke  from  his mouth.  His presurgery
face  emerged  in  an  arc-light  of  incandescent hate....
He  began  to spit  curses in  the hideous,  strangled gut-
turals of the Island dialect.
  The  Islanders all  profess ignorance  of the  dialect or
fiatly  deny its  existence. "We  are Breetish,"  they say.
"We don't got no bloody dealect."
  Froth  gathered  at  the   corners  of   the  Expeditor's
mouth. He was spitting little balls  of saliva  like pieces
of cotton.  The stench  of spiritual  vileness hung  in the
airs about him  like a  green cloud.  Marvie and  Leif fell
back twittering in alarm.
  'He's  gone  mad,"  Marvie  gasped.  "Let's  get  ont  of
here."  Hand  in  hand they  skip away  into the  mist that
covers  the Zone  in the  winter months  like a  cold Turk-
ish Bath.
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