Stuff a' nonsense all this set out, dressing up and dressing
down. Vanity at the bottom of it--and who's it to take in?--For a tramp's
a tramp, and a liner's a liner; and all the water in God's ocean, and all
the rubbing and scrubbing on man's earth, won't convert the one into the
other, bless you."
He pointed away, with his pipestem, to the violet-shadowed mouth of one
of the narrow lanes opening between the slop-shops, wine-shops, and cheap
eating-houses--their gaudy striped, flounced awnings bellying and
straining in the fervid southerly breeze--which lined the further side of
the crowded quay.
"As well try to wash some gutter-bred, French trollop, off the streets in
behind there, into a white-souled, white-robed heavenly angel," he
grumbled on. "All this purifying of the darned old hulk's so much labour
lost. Gets the men's monkey up too, putting all this extray work on 'em."
He leaned down again, folding his arms along the top of the bulwarks.
"And, angel or trollop, I find no use for her, nor any other style of
woman either, on board this 'ere blasted rusty iron coffin," he said.
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