Unlike Mr. Spraggon, he had a tremendous
determination of words to the mouth, and went best pace with his tongue
instead of coughing and hemming, and stammering and stuttering--wishing
himself 'well out of it,' as the saying is. His seclusion only seemed to
sharpen his faculties and make him enjoy society more. He gushed forth like
a pent-up fountain. He was not a bit afraid of the ladies--rather the
contrary; indeed, he would make love to them all--all that were
good-looking, at least, for he always candidly said that he 'wouldn't have
anything to do with the ugly 'uns.' If anything, he was rather too
vehement, and talked to the ladies in such an earnest, interested sort of
way, as made even bystanders think there was 'something in it,' whereas, in
point of fact, it was mere manner.
He began as soon as ever he got to Jawleyford Court--at least, as soon as
he had paid his respects all round and got himself partially thawed at the
fire; for the cold had struck through his person, his fine clothes being a
poor substitute for his thick double-milled red coat, blankety waistcoat,
and Jersey shirt.
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