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Stephen Dallison tried to pat this daughter of the house. The little bulldog withdrew from her caress, being also unaccustomed to commit herself.... Mondays were Blanca's "days," and Cecilia made her way towards the studio. It was a large high room, full of people.
Due to some too violent cross of blood, to an environment too unsuited, to what not it was branded on her. Those who knew Bianca Dallison better than Mr. Purcey were but too well aware of this fugitive, proud spirit permeating one whose beauty would otherwise have passed unquestioned.
Resuming her bodice, she asked: "When could you let me have it?" "At the end of the week, madam." "Not till then?" "We are very pressed, madam." "Oh, but you must let me have it by Thursday at the latest, please." The fitter sighed: "I will do my best." "I shall rely on you. Mrs. Stephen Dallison, 76, The Old Square."
He engaged Dallison to procure another trusty companion to take his place at night, and furnished him with money to purchase arms. He no longer slept as tranquilly as before, but frequently repaired to his place of observation to see that the watchman was at his post, and that all was secure.
Bloundel was so much pleased with Flitcroft's conduct that he would listen to no objection. Accordingly provisions were lowered down in a basket to the poor youth, and he stationed himself in the hutch. Nothing material occurred during the day. Flitcroft resigned his post to Dallison, but returned in the evening. At midnight, Leonard took his turn to watch.
And trotting by his side, with her jaw set very firm, his little bulldog looked up above her eyes, and seemed to say: 'It was time we left that man of action! In her morning room Mrs. Stephen Dallison sat at an old oak bureau collecting her scattered thoughts. They lay about on pieces of stamped notepaper, beginning "Dear Cecilia," or "Mrs.
He could not see her neither could he hear her voice but he fancied how she looked, and in what terms she prayed and it was no slight satisfaction to him to think that his own voice ascended to Heaven coupled with hers. On quitting the hutch, he found Dallison conversing with Doctor Hodges.
Purcey, however, was not a man who allowed the finest shades of feeling to interfere with his enjoyments. She was a "strikin'-lookin' woman," and there was, thanks to Harpignies, a link between them. "Your father and I, Mrs. Dallison, can't quite understand each other," he began. "Our views of life don't seem to hit it off exactly."
The "no-tale-bearing" tradition of a soldier fought hard with this sense of duty; his feelings were mixed when he rang the bell and asked for Mrs. Dallison. Habit, however, masked his face, and he stood before her at "attention," his black eyes lowered, clutching his peaked cap. Blanca noted curiously the scar on the left side of his cropped black head.
Butcher's meat was fetched him from Newgate-market by the porter. This man, whose name was Ralph Dallison, had been formerly in the employ of the grocer, who, knowing his character, could place entire reliance on him. Dallison reported the progress of the pestilence daily, and acquainted him with the increasing amount of the bills of mortality.
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