The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. His progress, however, was checked by loud acclamations, announcing the arrival of the Master of the Mint and his train. “For me,” Manning went on, “this isn’t final. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks.
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