Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate.
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