You cannot tell whether you know him or not until you have seen him. “Lord!” she said. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. 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. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts.
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