Such dogs as there were always went out with a lead, and
often wearing neat little home-made coats, with a leather strap instead
of a collar.
On almost every gate a metal label was affixed: "No hawkers or street
musicians." In the most sedate of the red-brick villas with the
neatest front garden, lived the Misses Dobson. If any one ever
ventured to speak of them in their hearing as the "Miss Dobsons" he was
certain to be corrected. In truth, "The Misses Dobson" seemed to
describe them far more accurately.
The difference between their ages was only eighteen months, and casual
observers assumed that they were twins. They invariably dressed alike,
in a fashion which had become out of date in London several years
before. They never went out separately, and in order that the same
ideas should penetrate their minds at the same moment, one of the pair
read aloud while the other sewed and listened.
Well-to-do in the world, they were exceedingly kind to the poor, and
they had never succeeded in grasping Bridget's reasons for refusing to
accept their hospitality. This afternoon they were sitting together in
their superlatively neat drawing-room, and Miss Dobson was knitting
while Miss Frances was reading a novel from the circulating library.
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