A pretty coaxing wench.

She'd make a man pour out his gold at her feet if she cared to try." Sally's lips went pallid with passion and her white nostrils quivered.
"A common little trull," she burst out.

"She should be sent to Bridewell and soundly whipped.

'Tis little more than six months she was a street squaller cadging for pence round the boozing kens of St.Giles and Clare Market.

And now--pah! it makes me sick." Sally flung the brooch upon the table with such violence it bounced a foot in the air.
"Gently--gently, my good Sally," remonstrated Mountchance, "if you must vent your fury upon anything choose your own property, not mine." It was doubtful if the virago heard the request.