. 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 had gladly lowered her eyes as she had been instructed to in front of the fine ladies and lords, as she was more interested in their clothing and fripperies than their faces. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. I can bear anything but suspense. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty.
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