She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. ’ Your name alone would fill any music hall in London. The Ragged Edge. 23 She had always considered herself a simple wool maker’s daughter, but she began to realize that by marrying Gianfrancesco she had unwittingly gained entrance to a separate world. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly.
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