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man fower days, ‘account of poor old feyther deein, and puttin’ it
off. Here be a weddin’ party--broide and broide’s-maid, and the
groom--if a mun dean’t ’joy himsel noo, when ought he, hey? Drat
it all, thot’s what I want to know.’

So, in order that he might begin to enjoy himself at once, and
lose no time, Mr Browdie gave his wife a hearty kiss, and
succeeded in wresting another from Miss Squeers, after a
maidenly resistance of scratching and struggling on the part of
that young lady, which was not quite over when they reached the
Saracen’s Head.

Here, the party straightway retired to rest; the refreshment of
sleep being necessary after so long a journey; and here they met
again about noon, to a substantial breakfast, spread by direction of
Mr John Browdie, in a small private room upstairs commanding
an uninterrupted view of the stables.

To have seen Miss Squeers now, divested of the brown beaver,
the green veil, and the blue curl-papers, and arrayed in all the
virgin splendour of a white frock and spencer, with a white muslin
bonnet, and an imitative damask rose in full bloom on the inside
thereof--her luxuriant crop of hair arranged in curls so tight that
it was impossible they could come out by any accident, and her
bonnet-cap trimmed with little damask roses, which might be
supposed to be so many promising scions of the big rose--to have
seen all this, and to have seen the broad damask belt, matching
both the family rose and the little roses, which encircled her
slender waist, and by a happy ingenuity took off from the
shortness of the spencer behind,--to have beheld all this, and to
have taken further into account the coral bracelets (rather short of
beads, and with a very visible black string) which clasped her

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