"Choose, Jack. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. ’ Hilary exploded. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. It is not at all comme il faut.
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