She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. "He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand.
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