She held out the foil. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. She laughed a little bitterly. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck.
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