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The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. 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. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. ‘What now?’ ‘Now,’ she answered flatly, ‘you will please to tell me at once why you have come here.
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