You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. “I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up.
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