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. They are long gone. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. The knife is at my breast. Love and companionship. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere. That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents.
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