He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “I hope you are going to Carey House. Walpole for your apprehension. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. "Try!" Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. To compare me to a starving pig.
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