Not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict. Lucy knocked again. Her tone was hoarse with passion. 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. She caught at the idea. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times.
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