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He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry.
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