You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head.
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