Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. He did not leave much of an 17 impression. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered.
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