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The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. I can’t love you. I can't spare you at present. But what would her aunt think of Teddy’s recent off-hand suggestion of marriage? What would she think of the Widgett conversation? Suppose she was to tell her aunt quietly but firmly about the parasitic males of degraded crustacea. It does not matter to him either way. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.
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