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a web of many textures

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This is a great discovery, to be sure,” said Mrs.
Partington, with animation; “when a person who has
experienced salvation, through calumny and all sorts of
pisenous grediences, can have it soaked out of 'em.”
We asked what she meant, and looked at her as she sat
in meditation and the little low chair in the corner, revolving
the idea, which pressed upon her brain like a
weight of steam two hundred and fifty pounds to the
square inch. “Why,” said she, smiling like the moon
with reflection, “there is a contrivance for soaking a
man who has taken calumny and minerals all his lifetime,
till his joints are stiff as wooden legs in the last
war; and when he comes out of the bath, and wipes
himself with a hacmetac towl, he has n't a single mineral
in him, — he is a perfect vegetable, as limber as an
eel!” What a gratified look it was she gave, as an
imaginary procession of cripples, the victims of calomel,
passed before her mind's eye, like the spirits of Kossuth's
countrymen, as she thought of their leaping, all


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cured, from the bath! though she shut her eyes just
then, and Ike stole away during her abstraction, and
was seen a moment after peeping round the corner at
the ancient priestess of Pomona, who sells apples opposite,
thinking what a fine thing it would be if a cart
should come down and capsize her table.