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"Are you a conundrum? Or a fiend? Or a metaphysical syste wo husband? Are you a young woman at all? Or only a dear

little, sweet little, pink little strawberry iceberg?"

He lay down on the sofa as if overcoue "Just as

you like," he murmured faintly "You'll be sorry for this some day

Shakespeare is iot up and threw theopen He ramped about the room,

soliloquizing as he went Never, even in the last days of their

engage to speak

yet; not she!) He stopped before the chimney-piece; it was covered with

ridiculous objects, the things that please a child: there were Swiss

cow-bells and stags carved in wood, Chinese idols that wagged their

heads, little i cats, teacups, a whole shelf full of

toys Not one of the to it He remembered the insane impulse that came

upon him last year to sht he could have kissed the absurdity!" That was the way he went on And now he sat down

by her writing-table, and was taking things up and exaot the expression of a certain brass

porcupine that was sooneelse, where porcupines were