The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. Very doubtful. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. “We don’t pretend. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor.
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