"Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. The audience clapped more heartily. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all.
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