I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. “Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer.
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