“No, you weren’t bad in the slightest. If they are not obvious errors, they are left as in the original. 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. Rummage, my boy, do. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. ” “He imposed on me,” Annabel continued. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. She repeated phrases of Mrs.
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