'You —- ah — appear to dislike the rich,' said Mrs Pett, as nearly in her grand manner as she could contrive.
Miss Trimble bowled over the grand manner as if it had been a small fowl and she an automobile. She rolled over it and squashed it flat.
'Hate 'em! Sogelist!'
'I beg your pardon,' said Mrs Pett humbly. This woman was beginning to oppress her to an almost unbelievable extent.
'Sogelist! No use f'r idle rich. Ev' read B'nard Shaw? Huh? Or Upton Sinclair? Uh? Read'm. Make y'think a bit.'