Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. Burn your palette and your easel.
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