Mrs. Pargeter's Pound of Flesh

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‘Eleven stone three pounds.’ There was only a hint of intonation in the girl’s voice as the digital display of the weighing machine settled. It was an intonation that could have inspired guilt and the resolve to slim in a susceptible person.

Mrs Pargeter was not such a person. ‘Yes, that’s about right,’ she said comfortably in her cockney-tinged accent as she stepped off the platform.

‘There are a few other measurements we take for all new arrivals at Brotherton Hall,’ the white-uniformed girl, whose plastic name-badge identified her as ‘Lindy Galton’, recited from a much-repeated script. ‘Bust, waist, hips, obviously, and height…’

‘Why, you haven’t got any treatment that can change people’s height, have you?’ asked Mrs Pargeter curiously.

The girl coloured. ‘Well, no…’

‘Good. Because the only ones I’ve heard of to do that are decapitation and the rack, and I don’t think either is a recommended health spa practice, is it?’

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