Tell me, Sir," she added, with forced calmness, and grasping Wood's arm; "what has Jack done? Tell me in a word, that I may know the worst. “What’s wrong?” He asked as she shifted awkwardly. His physical body was predictably paralyzed with shyness and fear of rejection, barely soothed with a series 51 of blatantly direct requests and compliments. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me.
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