And as usual the barber's new wife had pushed her into the street, staggering, and now stood on guard at the door, her coarse, handsome features alive with contempt.
"Wotcher doin' in my 'ouse ?" suddenly inquired Sloppy, blinking with suspicion at Flash Kate.

"Yous go 'ome, me fine lady, afore yer git yerself talked about." The woman at the door laughed loudly, and pretended to examine with keen interest a new wedding ring on her finger.
"Cum 'ere, an' I'll tear yer blasted eyes out," cried the drunkard, turning on her furiously.
The ragpicker's daughter leaned forward, and inquired, "'Ow d'ye like yer eggs done ?" At this simple inquiry the drunkard stamped her foot with rage, calling on her enemy to prepare for instant death.

And the two women bombarded one another with insults, raking the gutter for adjectives, spitting like angry cats across the width of the pavement.
The Push gathered round, grinning from ear to ear, sooling the women on as if they were dogs.

But just as a shove from behind threw Sloppy nearly into the arms of her enemy, the Push caught sight of a policeman, and walked away with an air of extreme nonchalance.

At the same moment the drunkard saw the dreaded uniform, and, obeying the laws of Cardigan Street, pulled herself together and walked away, mumbling to herself.