Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me.
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