Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. It was too good to be true. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating. The Ragged Edge.
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