Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. I can assure you, I wouldn’t be single again for worlds. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becoming my wife. E. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it.
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