They hoped for some fun
after their own tastes.
"Mercy on me," muttered Gay apprehensively, "that impudent hussy, Sally
Salisbury. And drunk too. This means trouble. Dick," he whispered
hurriedly to Leveridge, "you can use your fists if need be. I've seen
you have a set-to in Figg's boxing shed. That girl's in danger. Sally's
bent on mischief. There's murder in her eyes. Come with me."
Leveridge nodded and followed his friend out of the room.
Gay's action was none too prompt. No sooner had Sally
Salisbury--destined to be, a few years later, the most notorious woman
of her class--set eyes on the girl than her brows were knitted and her
lips and nostrils went white. Her cheeks on the other hand blazed with
fury. She gripped the shrinking girl and twisted her round. Then she
thrust her face within a few inches of Lavinia's.
"What do you mean by coming here, you squalling trollop?" she screamed.
"How dare you poach on my ground, you----"
How Sally finished the sentence can be very well left to take care of
itself.
Lavinia despite her terror of the beautiful virago never lost her
self-control.
"You're welcome to this ground every inch of it, but I suppose I've as
much right to walk on it as you have," said she.
"Don't talk to me, you little trull, or you'll drive me to tear your
eyes out. Take that."
With the back of her disengaged hand she struck the girl's cheek.
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