At last—I told a story. 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. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience.
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