Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay. . ” He held out his hand obediently. “How are you feeling?” She asked. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. No, don’t let me call myself that. Sc.
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