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. . But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. "I had to give in to him. ’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Parfait. I'll forgive him if he does. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers.
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