‘There’s a man in that shop,’ said the Doctor, ‘who has been in
Fairyland.’
‘Nonsense!’ I said, and stared back at the shop. It was the usual
village shop, post office, telegraph wire on its brow, zinc pans and
brushes outside, boots, shirtings, and potted meats in the window.
‘Tell me about it,’ I said, after a pause.
‘_I_ don’t know,’ said the Doctor. ‘He’s an ordinary sort of
lout--Skelmersdale is his name. But everybody about here believes it
like Bible truth.’