I wanted the magic of love. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. That bruise will answer the same purpose. “Never mind. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. Basically, I was raised in daycare.
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