You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. ‘Your niece, ma’am. "Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!" "Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. Her unnatural calm was giving way. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie.
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