Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. 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.
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