If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. 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. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head.
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