He knew his own colliers
fairly well.
'Somerset Drive, for certain!' said the collier, swinging his arm as if
catching something up. 'Somerset Drive--yi! I couldn't for my life lay
hold o' the lercality o' the place. Yis, I know the place, to be sure I
do--'
He turned unsteadily on his feet, and pointed up the dark, nighdeserted
road.
'You go up theer--an' you ta'e th' first--yi, th' first turnin' on your
left--o' that side--past Withamses tuffy shop--'
'I know,' said Gerald.
'Ay! You go down a bit, past wheer th' water-man lives--and then
Somerset Drive, as they ca' it, branches off on 't right hand side--an'
there's nowt but three houses in it, no more than three, I
believe,--an' I'm a'most certain as theirs is th' last--th' last o' th'
three--you see--'
'Thank you very much,' said Gerald. 'Good-night.'
And he started off, leaving the tipsy man there standing rooted.
Gerald went past the dark shops and houses, most of them sleeping now,
and twisted round to the little blind road that ended on a field of
darkness.
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