The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 302: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

NELL GIBSON 285 been perceived in the strong odour ,of the juniper which infected her breath. A trumpery mosaic chain hung around her great thick neck; and two or three flaring rings of base metal, set with great pieces of coloured glass, were stuck upon her very dirty fingers. She held a candle in her hand; and the moment the light fell upon the Hangman’s countenance she exclaimed, “ Ah! Mr. Coffin is that you? Well, I raly am delighted to see you alive again, after hearing as how you was dead and feeding the fishes in the Thames. But, howsomever, you are not looking the wuss for your late adventures.” “ Not a bit, mother; they did me good, on the contrary,” observed the Hangman, with a low chuckle, and with as amiable a look as such a hangdog countenance as his own could possibly assume; ‘“ besides which, you see, I’ve re- sumed office at the Old Bailey again.”’ “T read all about it, Mr. Coffin, in the newspapers,” returned the woman; “ and I was struck all of a heap when I seed how sudden you turned up again. But I hope,” she added, with a leering smile of coarse familiarity, ‘ that uf so be I should come to Tuck-up Fair to dance upon nothing, you'll treat me as a lady should be treated at a gentleman’s hands.”’ “That I will, mother,’ exclaimed Coffin, with a laugh which almost sounded ominous to the woman’s ears, and made her repent of her joke as it sent a shudder coldly quivering through her frame. ‘“‘ Depend upon it that if ever you come to be taught the fall of a leaf in the Old Bailey, I'll make the hempen neckcloth as comfortable for your old neck as possible; and I'll let the drop fall so gentle under your feet that you shall slide down as easy as a boy off a haystack.” ‘““ Well, come in, come in, Mr. Coffin,’’ said Mrs. Young, somewhat impatiently, as if she had had quite enough of that terrible tragi-comic jesting. ‘‘ Come in, I say, and wash your mouth out with a drop of summat short.”’ Thus speaking, the woman led the way into the little front parlour, where an immense fire blazed in the grate, giving forth a stifling heat. Huddled together on an old faded rickety sofa sat four young women, whose faces highly coloured with rouge, shameless exposure of the bosom, and immodest looks, but too plainly announced their avocation. Lounging in an armchair near the fire sat GOmiGcdooks (SO)