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a web of many textures

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That 's a new article for beautifying the complexion,”
said Mr. Bib, holding up a small bottle for Mrs.
Partington to look at. She looked up from toeing out
a woollen sock for Ike, and Ike, and took the bottle in her hand.
— “Is it, indeed?” said she; “well, they may get up
ever so many of these rostrums for beautifying the
complexion, but, depend upon it, the less people have
to do with bottles for it the better. My neighbor, Mrs.
Blotch, has been using a bottle a good many years for
her complexion, and her nose looks like a rupture of
Mount Vociferous, with the burning lather running all
over the contagious territory. You 'd better not try
the bottle as a beautifier, Mr. Bib.” Mr. Bib, with a
smile, informed her that this was simply a cosmetic,
harmless in its character, and intended to go upon
the face, and not inside it; whereupon she subsided
into the toe of Ike's stocking, murmuring something
about “leaking in.” Ike, in the mean while, was
amusing himself by rigging a martingale on Lion's tail,
securing that waggish member to his collar, and making
him look as if he was scudding before the wind.


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