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one day of the week, forming a little world of leggings, switches, and sample-bags; men of extensive stomachs, sloping like mountain sides; men whose heads in walking swayed as the trees in November gales; who in conversing varied their attitudes much, lowering themselves by spreading their knees, and thrusting their hands into the pockets of remote inner jackets. Their faces radiated tropical warmth; for though when at home their countenances varied with the seasons, their market-faces all the year round were glowing little fires. All over-clothes here were worn as if they were an inconvenience, a hampering necessity. Some men were well dressed; but the majority were careless in that respect, appearing in suits which were historical records of their wearer's deeds, sun-scorchings, and daily struggles for many years past. Yet many carried ruffled cheque-books in their pockets which regulated at the bank hard by a balance of never less than four figures. In fact, what these gibbous human shapes specially represented was ready money--money insistently ready--not ready next year like a nobleman's--often not merely ready at the bank like a professional man's, but ready in their large plump hands. It happened that to-day there rose in the midst of them all two or three tall apple-trees standing as if they grew on the spot; till it was perceived that they were held by men from the cider-districts who came here to sell them, bringing the clay of their county on their boots. Elizabeth-Jane, who had often observed them, said, "I wonder if the same trees come every week?" "What trees?" said Lucetta, absorbed in watching for Henchard. Elizabeth replied vaguely, for an incident checked her. Behind one of the trees stood Farfrae, briskly discussing a sample-bag with a farmer. Henchard had come up, accidentally encountering the young man, whose face seemed to inquire, "Do we speak to each other?" She saw her stepfather throw a shine into his eye which answered "No!" Elizabeth-Jane sighed. "Are you particularly interested in anybody out there?" said Lucetta. "O, no," said her companion, a quick red shooting over her face. Luckily Farfrae's figure was immediately covered by the apple-tree. Lucetta looked hard at her. "Quite sure?" she said. "O yes," said Elizabeth-Jane. Again Lucetta looked out. "They are all farmers, I suppose?" she said. "No. There's Mr. Bulge--he's a wine merchant; there's Benjamin Brownle
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