There was nobody inside but a little ragged lass, who could not tell us what the beer was made of.

She had only one drinking glass in the place, and that had a snip out of the rim.

The beer was exceedingly bitter.

We drank as we could, and then went into Pump Street, to the house of a "core-maker," a kind of labourer for moulders.

The core-maker's wife was in.