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. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. "If I hadn't just left him, I could have sworn it was Mrs. ” “And I also,” Brendon echoed. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. A cool gray light illuminated small portions of the stone floor. " "Very. I—I hurt myself.
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