"Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. 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. ’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. She helped him take it off. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath.
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