" "Oh, dear!" simpered Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to hide her confusion by looking steadfastly at her plate. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. " CHAPTER XIV. I think too much about myself. She did not have the power of men. I know you. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too. I’ve had a headache all day. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. All her questions would have as a background the idea of future defence. This time there wasn't any doubt.
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