Charlotte laughed, pulling him toward the carriage. "Only five thousand, George? You’re getting soft in your old age."
As they stepped back out onto the street, the London fog swirling around them, Charlotte took his arm. Getting Married by George Bernard Shaw
He stood in the hallway of the West Strand Registry Office, tugging at his rough, woollen jacket. Beside him stood Charlotte Payne-Townshend, a woman of formidable intellect and even more formidable patience. She was dressed sensibly; George was dressed, as usual, like a hedge that had decided to take up socialist lecturing. Charlotte laughed, pulling him toward the carriage
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