Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. I'm not hungry. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. “My cab with all that luggage would give the whole show away. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. ” “I suppose not. She laughed a little bitterly. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed.
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