The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. 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. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. Old Newgate was divided into three separate prisons,—the Master's Side, the Common Side, and the Press Yard. Spurling had retired for the night. "We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do. " Mr. John’s demeanor shifted.
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