" "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. No prisoner except Edgeworth Bess was placed in the same cell with him. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. But you had better know the truth to start with. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. It was no use. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste.
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