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. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. I’m a hard young woman. ‘You said she was beautiful. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. . Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine.
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