One of the reasons why I left Paris and came to London was because there was a man there who wanted me to marry him. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. I will go to-night.
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