At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. 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. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Little woman, you have been brave enough before.
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