I must go and dress at once. A riding-habit is all I have seen. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. When you don’t have any fingers left, I take a toe. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business.
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