Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. ‘We?’ Gerald smiled. “You promised faithfully to be there,” he said slowly. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith.
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