The woollen-draper looked at his watch. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. Their colorful displays seemed to repel the dreariness of the sky as each group savored its long awaited moment, its weekend arrival in front of the opposite sex.
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