Lion Head Mesa thamir alward

the flesh-monger paused — to wait. maggie scowled. "odd sort o'cunny-'ouse, innit?" rain and muck clung to her coat.
just as maggie was readying to tell the bawd piss off! and return to hawking her wares in another clime, they were joined by a tall and pristine stranger.
the beauty watched as he embraced the peddler. but his interest was in maggie, and she straightened up beneath his cultured voice and desirous eyes. "yew've a square of bliss 'ere, oi'm told," she observed. "let's see what sort of payment yew 'ave. then i might hoist me skirts!"
loud, mocking laughter. this was all a joke, wasn't it? and maggie the unwitting butt!