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. "Let me go," cried Winifred. “I truly am a vampire, John. " "A clever device," replied Jonathan; "but it won't serve your turn. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so.
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