He glanced up at the coachman. 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. ” “Why?” asked Hetty. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. Mrs. S. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. If you’ll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it.
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