In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. Wood. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. "But you are a good man, and you'll understand. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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