There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Don't be alarmed by their manners, Mr. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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