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 don’t want to,” said Manning. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour.
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