I will never wed you. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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