"Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. 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. Jonathan nodded assent. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex.
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