” A little blond creature close at hand suddenly gave way to a fit of hysterical laughter, and caught up the end of it with a sob. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. “You may not leave. Sheer calculation on his. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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