The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. What news. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. " "Oh Heavens!" cried Jack, driven to his wits' end. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. “It is a hateful story. ” “But how?” He was, she thought, a little too insistent.
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