‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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