The String of Pearls (1850), p. 179

I might make wealth by it, and so assume a position that my heart panted for. I will not delay until it is too late, or I may lose the enjoyment that I have sacrificed so much to find the means of getting. I live in this world but for the gratification of the senses, and finding that I could not gratify them without
abundant means, I fell upon this plan. I—ah—that is he𔃐"
Suddenly the swaggering companion, the redoubtable Major Bounce, rushed
past the shop-window, without so much as looking in for a single moment, and made his way towards Carey Street. Mrs. Lovett started up and made her way into the front shop. Major Bounce was out of sight, but from Fleet Street came a poor, draggled, miserable looking woman, making vain efforts at a speed
which her weakness prevented her from keeping up.—She called aloud—
"Stop! stop!—only a moment, Flukes! Only a moment, John. Stop!—stop!"
Her strength failed her, and she fell exhausted upon Mrs. Lovett's door-step.
"Heartless!—heartless ever!" she cried. "May the judgment of the Almighty reach him—may he suffer—yes—may he suffer only what I have suffered."
"Who and what are you?" said Mrs. Lovett.
"Poor, and therefore everything that is abject and despicable in London."
"What a truth," said Mrs. Lovett. "What a truth that is. Who would
not do even as I do to avoid poverty in a widowed life!—It is too horrible. Amid savages it is nothing, but here it is indeed criminality of the deepest dye. Whom did you call after, woman?"
"My husband."
"Husband. Describe him."
"A sottish-looking man, with moustache. Once seen, he is not easily mistaken—ruffian and villain are stamped by nature upon his face."
Mrs. Lovett winced a little.
"Come in," she said, "I will relieve you for the present. Come in."
The woman by a great effort succeeded in rising and crossing the threshold.
Mrs. Lovett gave her a seat, and having presented her with a glass of cordial and a pie, she waited until the poor creature should be sufficiently recovered to speak composedly, and then she said to her with perfect calmness, as though she was by no manner of means personally interested in the matter—
"Now tell me—Is the man with moustache and the braided coat, who passed hastily up Bell Yard a few moments only before you, really your husband?"
" Yes, madam, that is Flukes."
"Who?"
"Flukes, madam."
"And pray who and what is Flukes?"
"He was a tailor, and he might have been as respectable a man, and earned as honest and good a living as any one in the trade, but a love of idleness and dissipation undid him."
"Flukes—a tailor?"
"Yes, madam; and now that I am utterly destitute, and in want of the common necessaries of life, if 1 chance to meet him in the streets and ask him for the merest trifle to relieve my necessities, he flies from me in the manner he has done to-day."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, madam. If we were in a lonely place he would strike me, so that I should, from the injury he would do me, be unable to follow him, but that in the public streets he dare-not do, for he fears some man would interfere and put a stop to his cruelty. 5 *
"There, my good woman." said Mrs. Lovett, "there are five shillings for you. Go now, for I expect to be busy very shortly."
With a profusion of thanks, that while they lasted were quite stunning, poor Mrs. Flukes left the pie-shop and hobbled homewards. When she was gone the