And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. 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. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. "What of her?" cried the knight.
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