She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. “How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert. " "Power o' mercy!" cried Blueskin starting. 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.
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