“I forbid it!” she said firmly. She had lost it. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. Attempt to molest me, and I split. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. "I have nearly done," replied the stranger. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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