It was enough. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. “Oh, theories! Being in love is a fact. These particulars are familiar to all, who have any title to the knowledge. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. "But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. She was dressed in a little white frock, with a very long body, and very short sleeves, which looked (from a certain fullness about the hips,) as if it was intended to be worn with a hoop.
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