He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. Sheppard, "and am most grateful for your offer. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. ” “Much better,” she agreed. Lucy? Come 177 on out.
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