"And so shall I," replied Edgeworth Bess. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire. . ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. That was something in his favour. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. But she was not there.
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