"Sir, Mr. Fagin is here."
Arthur glanced away from The Times slightly, took out his pocket watch, and looked at it. The hour hand pointed to eight o'clock sharp. That old fellow Fagin was quite punctual.
Fagin stood straight at the doorway. Although his chronically bent spine still made him look a bit hunched, the naturally kind smile under his low-brimmed hat made him look just like the typical stern old man often seen in the West District.
A young woman in a gray dress stood behind him.
Her face was somewhat pale, and she kept her head down, not daring to look at anyone in the room.
It was obvious that this girl probably wasn't a habitual offender; otherwise, she wouldn't be this nervous about a delivery.
Look at Fagin beside her, this maritime shop owner who had turned over a new leaf had specifically changed into a gentleman's attire for the occasion today.
