Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. She looked at him curiously. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. But what if she were to marry? He glanced towards the elderly dame and found her watching him, the dimple very much in evidence.
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