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A very extraordinary lady compleats this malicious group. She does not appear to have any Christian name, but by the gang is termed the Glove Woman, as she constantly wears cotton-mittens. Sir Archy dryly insinuates that she keeps her arms thus covered because she has got the itch. She is about 48 years of age, is above the middle height, and has a sharp face. On her chin and upper lip there is a considerable quantity of fine downy hair, and she is somewhat pockfretten. Always dressed in a common fawn-coloured Norwich gown, with a plain cream-coloured camblet shawl, and wears a chip hat covered with black silk. The glove woman is remarkable for her skill in managing the machine. She frequently goes abroad. The rest of the gang, but particularly Sir Archy, are constantly bantering and plucking at her, like a number of rooks at a strange jack-daw: she has never been known to speak.

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Mabel in her common gown, her common fawn-coloured Norwich gown kept her secret tucked into her glove.

Mabel came team-handed. Able as she was, she didn’t bleat. Camel meat on her table for her meal to eat, she didn’t blame me. Her tame cat let it be. We met her mate, Able by name who carried a mace and took a cab to abet the rest, but was late. Mabel would never amble when she met a man who made her melt. Meta, in a lace and cable belt, leading a lamb in her lea, beat with éclat and an elm bat at a beam… blam bam! Mabel had to soothe with balm and ale after she had paid the tab. She put on her camblet shawl and went abroad.

A sorry tale.

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