The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. "Oh, Heavens!" cried Mrs. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. " "I've no intention of stirring," replied the woollen-draper, who was thus unceremoniously disturbed: "and I beg you'll sit down, Mr.
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