“PEABODY WAS hot and out of breath. It was midsummer; her stays imprisoned her unyieldingly and her gown, with its fashionable bustle, was far too heavy to allow her to go chasing down the pavement after a willful dog that was fast disappearing through the wrought-iron churchyard gates. “Clarence!” Mrs. Peabody cried out furiously. “Clarence! Come back here at once!” But Clarence, who was fat and middle-aged and should have known better, squirmed through the gap and shot away into the long grass... and the laurel bushes on the other side of the railings. Mrs. Peabody, gasping with annoyance and clinging on to her broad hat with one hand, sending it rakishly over her eyes, tried with the other to force the gates open far enough to allow her extremely ample form to pass through. The late Mr. Peabody had preferred women of generous proportions. He had said so frequently. A man’s wife should reflect his position in life: dignified and substantial. But it took more aplomb than Mrs. Peabody possessed to remain dignified while caught by one’s bosom in a churchyard gate with one’s hat askew and a dog yelping like a fiend a dozen yards away.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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