E. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Also he is ugly. F. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. She had no idea what she should do. 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. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere.
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