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 swallowed hard. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth.
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