| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 694 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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`Yes,' repeated Philpot. `Blowed up! Busted! Exploded! All into pieces. But they swep' 'em all up and put it in a corfin and it's to be planted this afternoon.' Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpot continued: `I had a drink the other night with a butcher bloke what used to serve this parson with meat, and we was talkin' about what a strange sort of death it was, but 'e said 'e wasn't at all surprised to 'ear of it; the only thing as 'e wondered at was that the man didn't blow up long ago, considerin' the amount of grub as 'e used to make away with. He ses the quantities of stuff as 'e's took there and seen other tradesmen take was something chronic. Tons of it!' `What was the parson's name?' asked Harlow. `Belcher. You must 'ave noticed 'im |
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