Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Manning’s handwriting, and opened his letter and read some lines before its import appeared. Two hours had come and gone during this tantalizing occupation. To settle things, you know. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. There's the paragraph. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times.
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