For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. She is, in her way, a dear. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. 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. And afterward her mother and Alice kissed long and clung to each other. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat.
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