She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. " Mr. 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. “I did it for love of you,” he said.
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