“Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. "I want to speak to Edgeworth Bess myself. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam.
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