It was a unique experience for her to wash him. "With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. His glance came up again and met hers. . Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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