Worchester Pettigrew prided himself on his promptitude and at 8:55am precisely rapped on the good doctor's front door with his walking cane. The young nurse that answered it, he gave the usual once over. He was really looking for some good, properly plump, curvaceous models to show off his latest creations: but all the young women around here were positively emaciated looking. Unfortunately this one was was cut from the same meagre pattern as the rest.
"Mr. Pettigrew, Doctor Danforth is expecting me!" he announced himself tersely. He wanted to get in and settled to this operation so he could put down the heavy carpet bag he held in his other hand.
Her clothes, he noted, were neat and adequately hand sewn; she was probably too poor to buy a dress from his store.