She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. ‘Well, she’d better learn fast if she wants any truck with me. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
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