I am a draper mad with love. I love you more than all the flannelette and calico, candlewick, dimity, crash and merino, tussore, cretonne, crepon, muslin, poplin, ticking and twill in the whole Cloth Hall of the world.
So melancholy a prospect should inspire us with zeal to oppose some stop to the rising torrent.
[…] the syrupy cuddlecore of bands like cub and Shonen Knife.
Fine shooting, again muttered Lord Merton; and if I knew Lord Etheringhame, he might ask me to shoot over his grounds. Campbell talks of the magic of a name—yes, if the name be partridges. Well, Adelaide; but how do you mean to contrive it? … A lingering hope of the covies gave unusual animation to her brother's manner, when he hoped their acquaintance was only begun: here Adelaide interposed: …
Fine shooting,
and if I knew Lord Etheringhame, he might ask me to shoot over his grounds.
Well, Adelaide; but how do you mean to contrive it?
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