” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. Ah! I have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, I'll be sworn. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. I sha'n't cry any more. No, let us dine here, and then go and have our coffee on the boulevards. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food.
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