” “What’s our lot?” asked her sister. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. 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. ” Ann Veronica turned her back on the Michaelmas daisies, and faced toward the house with an air of a duty completed. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. He was disquieted. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind.
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