"My portrait!" echoed Jack. " "Only two minutes more, Sir," intreated Edgeworth Bess, advancing towards him in such a manner as to screen Jack, who crept into the farthest part of the angle,—"only two minutes, and we've done. They had both been unsuccessful. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. Cathy answered the phone.
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