It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. When I promised to marry you I thought I could; I thought it was a possible arrangement. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. “I do love you. And every day's experience proves that I was right. I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre. " "Advanced them rather," replied Gay, in the same tone. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed.
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