Take good care of them, please; they both seem a bit yawnsome—is that a word?
Where trees allowed glimpses, the hills above were purple-black, the snowcaps in the distance moltenly aglow.
Did you do it yoursel', Grizel ? God behears, she did it hersel!
You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say ‘Sir, no going.’
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