Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs. Catch him, she begged silently. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not.
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