” “Well?” Anna remarked calmly. ‘I do not need for you to tell me this. He stood back and held her shoulders. 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. Nothing ensued. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Nothing else was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind.
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