The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again.
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