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Updated: May 28, 2025
Her embroidery hoop, with a large shaded pink rose in the working, had, contrary to her custom, fallen from idle hands, and instead of following the dart of the infinitesimal needle, Mrs. Jett's eyes were burningly upon Mrs. Peopping, following, with almost lip-reading intensity, that worthy lady's somewhat voluptuous mouthings.
His humour rioted in comparisons between potent personages and Jim Jett's brother or old Judge Brown's drunken coachman, for the reason for which the rarely jesting Wordsworth found a hero in the "Leech-Gatherer" or in Nelson and a villain in Napoleon or in Peter Bell.
It was sold, perhaps to Palmerston, at Jett's auction in 1731. The gap between Henry VIII. and Stebbing remains for the present unfilled. So much for the first draw. Next, a yet larger and more ponderous volume, Decreta Romanorum Pontificum the Papal decretals and the Acts of the Councils.
Of course the years puttied in and healed and softened, until for Henry almost a Turner haze hung between him and some of the stark facts of Emma Jett's death, turping out horror, which is always the first to fade from memory, and leaving a dear sepia outline of the woman who had been his.
Jett loved to pinch together with thumb and forefinger. "Cover her up quick, Em, it's chilly this morning." Quite without precedent, Jeanette puckered up to cry, holding herself rigidly to Mr. Jett's dressing gown. "Why, Jeanette baby, don't you want to go to Aunty Em?" "No! No! No!" Trying to ingratiate herself back into Mr. Jett's arms. "Baby, you'll take cold. Come under covers with Aunty Em?"
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