To his relief, she nodded. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. 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. Most unsatisfactory. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose.
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