Mr. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. 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. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. She had agonized over it for weeks. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack.
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