What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. I had a perfect shoal of callers. 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. The continuity was frequently broken in upon by diversory suppositions. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins.
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