Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions— From patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, And with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. The Times slipped from his fingers. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. "We'll see," returned the thief-taker. This isn’t the place.
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