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. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. He has sworn that he'll take away my life!" "Bah!" interrupted Jonathan.
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