The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. The crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of persons were seen hurrying towards Tyburn as fast as their legs could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every impediment in their course. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. Observe it—a blue-serge coat.
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