"He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. ’ ‘No, no,’ the other lady assured her with a twinkle. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe.
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