The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. And a right set-to there were betwixt him and Mr Jarvis, I can tell you. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty.
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