"You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. You wish another name? Eh bien. All right! I’m off. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily.
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