By the time I finished my cleansing, the house reeked of strong soap, and the crowd of interested spectators had increased. I allowed them to watch, as I studied them, wondering how such a diverse mix of people could squeeze into such a small area. Among the small tradespeople were the expected ladybirds, the hawkers and pimps, the scavengers and petty thieves, an honest woman or two, a thimble-rigger, a clutch of unemployed navigators, and a minister of the cloth.
“What are you doing with these?” the pockmarked brawler asked when I dragged out the final parcel of unwanted material from the house.
“Getting rid of them,” I said, pleasantly.
“I’ll take them off your hands for five shillings.” Pockmarked held out his hand hopefully.
“Take them if you want them,” I said, “but you’ll not ge
