207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. ‘She didn’t behave in the least like an émigré, if these people are anything to go by. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. . Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago.
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