Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. "Why you wouldn't stand in the way of his good fortune surely? I'll be a second father to him, I tell you. ” She smiled at him. E. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. A stomacher, fastened by imitationdiamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin.
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