" "I don't desire it, Sir," replied Mrs. " "Decidedly so," replied Edgeworth Bess; "and I'll take this opportunity, while Jack's back is turned,—for he's grown so strangely particular,—of easing him of his snuff-box. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Who invented them? Nobody knows. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. “I just came to you and put myself in your hands.
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