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But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. Austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,—for it had already been extensively noised abroad. 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. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself.
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