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. ” She stood up and held her arms toward him. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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