It is not the woman who speaks there. He became angry. " "That's reasonable. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. 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. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear.
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