She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. Your maid would not be of the least protection. “Mr. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome.
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