The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Gerald liked her enormously. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. " O'Higgins produced his wallet.
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