She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. Besides, it was under false pretences. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street.
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