Mrs. Wilson sighed. "Well, if you're sure you don't need these here salts—" she lifted the glass and stood hesitating, "why, I don't s'pose there's re'lly any call fer you to take 'em. It seems too bad to waste 'em, though.",
"Go on, Lighthouse girl. You always thought you would like our wedding to be—when?",
Greyquill, who saw little to fear in the pursuit of a man with a wooden leg, turned his head upon his shoulder and cried back: "There are too many of us.".
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