"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. But she veiled her feelings. Like a trollop in heat. "There is nobody else. I asked several shopkeepers the same question: ‘Do you know the blue-eyed maid with the curly brown hair? She has a mother who is fair with the same eyes.
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