She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame.
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