They reserved their awe for Scipio.

Indeed, there is a legend that when Scipio made his first appearance in Fore Street--he being so tall and the roadway so narrow--he left in his wake two rows of supine children who, parting before him, had gradually tilted back as their gaze climbed up his magnificent and liveried person until the sight of his ebon face toppled them over, flat.
Miss Jex, the postmistress, would hand him his letters or his copy of the _Sherborne Mercury_ with a troubled blush.

No exception surely could be taken if she, a Government official, chose to hang a coloured engraving of the Prince Regent on the wall behind her counter.

And yet--the resemblance! She had heard of irregular alliances, Court scandals; she had even looked out "Morganatic" in the dictionary, blushing for the deed while pretending to herself (fie, Miss Jex!) that "Moravian" was the word she sought.
In Admirals' Row--its real name was Admiral's Row, and had been given to it in 1758, after the capture of Louisbourg and in honour of Admiral Boscawen; but we in Troy preferred to write the apostrophe after the 's'-- Miss Sally Tregentil would overpeer her blind and draw back in a flutter lest the Major had observed her.
"Georgiana Pescod is positive that he was wild in his youth.
But how," Miss Sally asked herself, "can Georgiana possibly know?
And if he were--" I leave you, my reader, as you know the female heart, to continue Miss Sally's broken musings..