Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. Wood in their favour. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. This moment couldn’t be better until the next moment comes.
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