The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. He nodded silently, too full for words. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little adventure.
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