"And so shall I," replied Edgeworth Bess. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. —'Why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you're safe,' says I. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. "From Mr. ToC Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you.
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