Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. “No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. The service had not proceeded far, when she was greatly disturbed by the entrance of a person who placed himself opposite her, and sought to attract her attention by a number of little arts, surveying her, as he did so, with a very impudent and offensive stare. His bravado waxed and he asked her to what would be her first date in nearly twenty years. She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. Keep a sharp look out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else.
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