She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Just as the clergyman approached the altar, she perceived a boy steal quickly into the church, and ensconce himself behind the woollen-draper, who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience, and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting posture. And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionable practitioner in Hong-Kong. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged.
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