‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. 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. org/fundraising. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble. I can’t love you.
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