The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to
bear. I see them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross the
way to meet her, when her bonnet (she has a bright taste in bonnets) is
seen coming down the pavement, accompanied by her sister's bonnet. She
laughs and talks, and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own
spare time in walking up and down to meet her. If I can bow to her once
in the day (I know her to bow to, knowing Mr. Larkins), I am happier. I
deserve a bow now and then. The raging agonies I suffer on the night
of the Race Ball, where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing
with the military, ought to have some compensation, if there be
even-handed justice in the world.
My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear my newest silk
neckerchief continually. I have no relief but in putting on my best
clothes, and having my boots cleaned over and over again. I seem, then,
to be worthier buy anabolics online of the eldest Miss Larkins. Everything that belongs to
her, or is connected with her, is precious to me. Mr. Larkins (a gruff
old gentleman with a double chin, and one of his eyes immovable in his
head) is fraught with interest to me. When I can't meet his daughter, I
go where I am likely to meet him. To say 'How do you do, Mr. Larkins?
Are the young ladies and all the family quite well?' seems so pointed,
that I blush.
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