He put the things back into their respective boxes, replaced the boxes on their respective shelves, walked into the little parlour behind the shop, and closed the door.
"Isn't he ever coming back ?" asked the lady, after a couple of minutes had elapsed.
Her tone did not imply a question, so much as an exclamation of mere impatience.
"I doubt it," I replied.
"Why not ?" she asked, much astonished.
"I expect," I answered, "you have bored him.

In all probability he is at this moment behind that door smoking a pipe and reading the paper." "What an extraordinary shopkeeper!" said my friend, as she gathered her parcels together and indignantly walked out.
"It is their way," I explained.

"There are the goods; if you want them, you can have them.

If you do not want them, they would almost rather that you did not come and talk about them." On another occasion I listened in the smoke-room of a German hotel to a small Englishman telling a tale which, had I been in his place, I should have kept to myself.
"It doesn't do," said the little Englishman, "to try and beat a German down.

They don't seem to understand it.