Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. " "You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. She hated living like that. “It couldn’t be.
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