I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. And don't worry about the six thousand, Hoddy. And for me there is only one treasure-house. E.
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