“Do you mean in looks?” she asked. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. He looked distant, irritated. His literary instincts were reviving. Wood fancied he recognised. Emile’s fist crashed into her temple and stars exploded in her vision. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer.
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