‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. 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. He’ll survive. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom.
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