One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall.
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