"What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. No one would ever know what happened to him. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. “I am not in need of any. But I don’t suppose you can understand. For so far she had kept it uncashed. She walked across to this apartment and, opening the door a little wider, discovered a press section of the movement at work.
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