Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. ” “And besides, when it comes to the idea of queens,” Ann Veronica went on, “there’s twenty-one and a half million women to twenty million men.
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