“Come to my rooms and have a drink. Her hair was washed for her also. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. I don't think. A shiver slid down inside her. She's not for pleasure, but for work. 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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