In Filbert Street, two votaries of Staggering Bob are lying on the pavement, sharing a flagon, not demurely, but with warmth and companionable glee.
Lady Gossop, prinked and prim, approaches to a safe distance and admonishes them with shrill voice and tap-taps of her parasol on the flagstones:
Disgraceful! — public street! — spectacle! — reeking! — be off with you! — well I mean!
Votary 1: ‘Would yiz lige a zrink, Mizzuz?’
Votary 2: ‘Enny sbare zhange, Mizzuz?’
Votary 1: ‘Enny zhanze of a ride, Mizzuz?’
Prinked and prim pirouettes and minces quickly away, clutching her parasol and her dignity.
Votary 1: ‘G’wan outta that ya fad-arzed fuggin bitzh what-else-are-ya? Here, gimme that!’
Votary 2: ‘Zhe vanzies you!’
Lady Gossop turns a corner and suddenly feels cold.