[…] I missed three quarters of blond-lace, and a remnant of muslin, and my silver-thimble; which was the gift of true love. They were all in my work-basket, that I left upon the table in the sarvants-hall when mistresses bell rung […]

Her skirt was extremely brief but doubtless cool.

The woman in the shop was reframing a painting.

It has its own local delicacy, the oatcake, a sort of heavy-duty tortilla with the texture of flannel, which exiled 'clayheads' get all tearful about […]