It _is_ just seven years since he gave it to me.
Really, the dear boy is a witch: this is your wedding dress, my precious
precious." She unrolled a few yards on the bed to show it; and asked the
gloating Sarah with a great appearance of consideration whether they were
not detaining her from her occupations?
"Oh no, mum. This glass have got so dull; I'm just polishing of it a bit.
I shan't be a minute now, mum."
From silver tissue paper, Mrs. Dodd evolved a dress (unmade) of white
crape embroidered in true lover's-knots of violet silk, and ears of wheat
in gold. Then there was a scream at the glass, and Sarah seen in it with
ten claws in the air very wide apart: she had slily turned the mirror and
was devouring the reflexion of the finery, and this last Indian fabric
overpowered her. Her exclamation was instantly followed by much
polishing; but Mrs. Dodd replied to it after the manner of her sex: "Well
it _is_ lovely," said she to Julia: "but where is the one with beetle
wings? Oh here."
"Real beetles' wings, mamma?" inquired Julia.
"Yes, love."
"So they are, and how wicked! and what a lovely green! I will never wear
them: they are prismatic: now, if ever I am to be a Christian, I had
better begin: everything _has_ a beginning.
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