" "Only two minutes more, Sir," intreated Edgeworth Bess, advancing towards him in such a manner as to screen Jack, who crept into the farthest part of the angle,—"only two minutes, and we've done. "Leave us, Mrs. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight.
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