"It doesn't help," Lila admitted, "but mostly it just marks me as a foreigner. There aren't a lot of Indians in Scotland. Plus, I sound English, which doesn't help."
"Works for me," Lila agreed, as they veered across the street to burst through the doorway of a shop. The interior was small, and crowded. Two mannequins stood in front of the window displaying some of the shop's work. The display area took up the front half of the shop, filled with shelves and tables that displayed bolts of cloth or samples of fabric. A curtained doorway led into the rear, where Lila could hear voices.
A tall man in trousers and a long-sleeved shirt had been idly looking over samples, a pipe in his mouth. Probably waiting on his wife while she was being fitted. Now he turned to gape at them, pipe in hand.
"Please help us, I beg you," Lila pleaded, giving it her all. "There are men outside who mean us harm." She glanced back as she spoke. The men had come to stumbling halt and stood outside, glaring in at them.