“Well?” she said, sitting down again. There were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers—a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. There was going to be no quarter between these two. The room in which he was detained—that lately occupied by the Mohocks, who, it appeared, had been allowed to depart,—was calculated to inspire additional apprehension and disgust. That was what she was trying to make him understand. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound.
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