|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
Crass hurriedly pulled out his watch.
`Jesus Christ!' he gasped. `It's four minutes past one!'
Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wandering about the room with them.
Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and, snatching a piece of sandpaper from the pocket of his apron, began furiously rubbing down
the scullery door.
Easton threw down the copy of the Obscurer and scrambled hastily to his feet.
The boy crammed the Chronicles of Crime into his trousers pocket.
Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stale whitewash it contained, and the stench which it gave forth was simply appalling.