Wood scarcely knew where he was. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. The fates are never so kind to me. Get nothing out of me. 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 had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. “Is it your maid?” he asked. The impassivity of her features changed at last. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. ” “I knew it,” Ennison exclaimed.
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