She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven.
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