Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. “But your sister,” he said. He knew what he knew. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. So was I, in fact. Wood's charms equalled your description. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade.
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