207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Every human being is a new thing, exists to do new things. You’re tired, of course. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought.
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