But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. 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 took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. So far she had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter.
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