It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms.
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