It's your eagerness that bothers me. 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 had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. He contrasted with Russell, whose intellectual methods were, so to speak, sceptically dogmatic. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. He had an objective now.
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