"What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. " So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in the typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent courage. 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. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. Yes, of course. I’m very resourceful, you know. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod.
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