They’re just all men, and no one is safe from scandal. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. I have a big breakfast. It fits your style. 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. Maybe later. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had.
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