She loved to be told to do things. But it was of no avail. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Died short, I suppose, and the girls had to shift for themselves. He turned to observe what this object was that had so unexpectedly diverted the young man's attention. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. Luck.
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