“What’s wrong?” He asked as she shifted awkwardly. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. "All's bowman, my covey. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. I believe it amused him. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. “Sold again,” she remarked.
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