‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. . ’ ‘Uh-oh,’ came from her infuriating suitor and his eyes dropped to the weapon she was dragging from the holster under her petticoat. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully.
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