She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. 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. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days.
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