Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark.
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