The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself.
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