‘Come here, when you’re called,’ said the tinker, ‘or I’ll rip your young body open.’
I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, trying to propitiate the tinker by my looks, I observed that the woman had a black eye.
‘Where are you going?’ said the tinker, gripping the bosom of my shirt with his blackened hand.
‘I am going to Dover,’ I said.
‘Where do you come from?’ asked the tinker, giving his hand another turn in my shirt, to hold me more securely.
‘I come from London,’ I said.
‘What lay are you upon?’ asked the tinker. ‘Are you a prig?’