It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. You're welcome to it. But Jack did not heed them. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. It was a brief solitude, however. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage.
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