On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. "And now to dispose of our dead. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has. " "Ship her back to her father"—sagely.
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