On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. Wood. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. To return.
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