I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. Mr. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. ” Her father’s irony deepened. The thought had not even occurred to him. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. No, don’t let me call myself that.
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