His dress was tough.

His companions, male and female, were tough.
His face was inflamed, his eyes touched with wildness.
"Hey, you!" he called.

"You with the velvet slippers.

Me for you." The girl beside him put her arm around his neck and tried to hush him, and through the mufflement of her embrace they could hear him gurgling: "I tell you she's some goods.

Watch me go across an' win her from them cheap skates." "Butchertown hoodlums," Mary sniffed.
Saxon's eyes encountered the eyes of the girl, who glared hatred across at her.