“You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. —Strype's Stow. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. The last observation, however, caught the attention of the carpenter's wife.
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