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. Lucy felt a finger tap her on the bra strap as she observed Michelle chatting with yet another passing group of people. She brought Sebastian’s chloroformed rag up to his face with her right. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly.
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