Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth.
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