Then Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot. 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. “He dissembles,” he said. Anyone else who finds out must be killed, otherwise, you insure death or worse for us.
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