Chapter 4 — IV

Rolliver’s inn, the single alehouse at this end of the long and broken
village, could only boast of an off-licence; hence, as nobody could legally
drink on the premises, the amount of overt accommodation for consumers was
strictly limited to a little board about six inches wide and two yards long,
fixed to the garden palings by pieces of wire, so as to form a ledge. On this
board thirsty strangers deposited their cups as they stood in the road and
drank, and threw the dregs on the dusty ground to the pattern of Polynesia, and
wished they could have a restful seat inside.

Thus the strangers. But there were also local customers who felt the same wish;
and where there’s a will there’s a way.

In a large bedroom upstairs, the window of which was thickly curtained with a
great woollen shawl lately discarded by the landlady, Mrs Rolliver, were
gathered on this evening nearly a dozen persons, all seeking beatitude; all old
inhabitants of the nearer end of Marlott, and frequenters of this retreat. Not
only did the distance to the The Pure Drop, the fully-licensed tavern at the
further part of the dispersed village, render its accommodation practically
unavailable for dwellers at this end; but the far more serious question, the
quality of the liquor, confirmed the prevalent opinion that it was better to
drink with Rolliver in a corner of the housetop than with the other landlord in
a wide house.