Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. . The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. Sindlesham tried. “I was in Paris four years ago,” Mr. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. . “Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. . Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure.
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