‘We don’t know who she is. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. ’ ‘Comment?’ she demanded with some heat. According to Lucilla, this comtesse had constituted herself something of a social leader in the rapidly growing assemblage of refugees, and would undoubtedly be ready to introduce an eligible bachelor appropriately. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. She was finally dead, going to Hell. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. ‘You said it.
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