‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. He stopped before her suddenly. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. I've sent for the priest. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. ‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths.
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