She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. 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. “I suppose delusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition. Go away,’ came fretfully from Prudence Sindlesham, and Melusine heaved a sigh as she looked towards the butler, who was making his stately way to the door. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed.
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