“Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. “Love should be enough, John, but it never is. Forgive me. I’ll have it out with him. Put your arms around her and tell her you love her.
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