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Ad
vice
Lovelorn
The Girl With Yellow Hair
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
HE SHOWS NO SIGN.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am 17, and about four months
ago a girl friend Introduced me to
a voung man about four years my
senior He Is very good looking
and !.u.s winning ways. From the
first day I met him I adored him,
and it was a case of love at first
sight on my part. Every time
we meet he is very pleasant, but
never has asked me to go out
with him.
Now, what I would like to ask
you is if you think he cares for
me any, and what I should do to
gain his affection. IONA.
If he loves you, he doesn’t show It,
and I am sure any attempts to win his
love will be to your disadvantage.
You can not force a man's love. Be
your own sweet, natural self, and if
his love is to be yours it will develop
all the surer if you do not frighten it
* away. And I want you to have it,
for love is all there is to life.
HE OVERDOES IT.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a girl of seventeen, and in
love with a young man three
months my senior. He goes to
* business with me every morning
, and seems very affectionate, but
when I meet him on the street,
and he is with other young men,
with whom I also am acquainted,
he barely notices me. What would
you do In a case like that? I love
him dearly. M. A.
I am sure he doets not want his
friends to know of the attachment,
and in an effort to conceal his feel
ings. he swings to the other extreme.
You are only seventeen, and will
love other men in time. Then you
will be glad no one knew of this.
Treat him as coolly as he treats you.
IT IS FOOLISH.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
Do you think its right for a
young man while having his own
sweetheart, who is the only one
he loves, address her truest lady
friend (also his friend) as “Dear
est?” AN AMBITIOUS GIRD.
It is bad taste, and, as girls’ hearts
are impressionable, It may cause com
plications. Perhaps he did it to tor
ment you. The girl who gives her
heart to a man must accept many
characteristics with his love of which
she does not really approve. This,
for instance, may be his idea of
humor.
What Would YOU Do?
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
A Dainty Bathing Costume
“D
“You must come round and see what mother says,” Moira answered.
Surprising the Coachman.
A practical joke was played the
other day. A gentleman who has
something of a reputation as a wag,
was the writer’s companion, and we
. were passing a large shop. There,
drawn up, were three or four vehicles,
and among them was a closed broug
ham with the driver fast asleep on
the box. Evidently the mistress
was Inside the shop.
Without a word the wag stole
quickly up and. opening the carriage
door carefully slammed It to. In h
t moment the coachman straightened
'up. and gazed down the street at the
electric light which was fixed there a*
if he had never s*een anything so in
i' resting in his life. Then he stole a
look over hU shoulder, and saw the
wag stunning hat in hand, apparently
*■'' Dig to some one inside the car
riage.
Thank you; yes; good-day,” said
the wag, and bowed himself grace
fully away from the door, turning as
he did so to look at the driver and
say, ‘‘Home!”
“Yes, sir! tch! get up!” and off went
the orougham “home.”
Where that “home” was, who the
mistress of the carriage was, or what
sh<* did when sthe came out of the
shop, or what the coachman did when
he stopped at the door of “home” and
found the carriage empty, all that
only the coachman and the lady know.
WOMAN GOULD
NOT WALK
She Was So Ill—Restored
to Health by Lydia E.
Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound.
*'■ Pentwater, Mich.—“A year ago I
was very weak and the doctor aaid I
had a serious
displace m e n t. I
had backache and
bearing down
pains ao bad that
I could not sit in
a chair or walk
across the floor
and I was in se
vere pain all the
time. I felt dis
couraged. as I
had taken every
thing I could
think of and was
no better. I be-,
gan taking Lydia E. Pinkham’s Veg
etable Compound and now I am,
strong and healthy.”—MRS. ALICE
DARLING, R. F. D. No. 2, Box 77,
Pentwater, Mich.
Read What Another Woman Says.
Peoria, Ill.—“I had such backaches
that I could hardly stand on my feet.,
I would feel like crying out lots of
times, and had such a heavy feeling
in my right side. I had such terri
ble dull headaches every day, and
they would make me feel so drowsy,
and sleepy all the time, yet I could
not sleep at night.
'After I had taken Lydia E. Pink-
ham's Vegetable Compouud for a
week I began to improve. My back-,
ache was less and that heavy feel
ing in rny side went away. I con-
to take the Compound and am
^Jtired.
'“You may publish this if you wlah. r
- YISS CLARA L. GAUWITZ. R. R.
4. fcox 62, Peoria. Ill.
l iters prove the value of Ly-
jjr" ’’ ’ -ham’s Vegetable Coin-
f” n aaajm’fl ills. Why don't
fou trj
By MOLLIE KENNEDY.
T HE first moaning that Moira
Gerraghty came into that
Bond street tearoom all the
girls stared. Her hair was yellow,
startlingly yellow', reminding one of
sunshine, of fields of corn, of mari
golds blinking at the sun and of gold
en daffodils. Miss Bates, the man
ageress, said this; but Miss Bates was
of a poetical turn of mind.
Later on Oscar Henderson boasted
that it was he who had discovered
her. The Bond street tearoom was a
favorite haunt of several of the
Academy students, of whom he was
one, a little coterie of them gathering
in one corner, where they talk an art
jargon unintelligible to the ordinary
listener, until one afternoon Moira
chanced to serve them, and after that
they talked of nothing but her won
derful ypllow hair. t
That night Henderson burst in upon
liis friend Jack Mayne, who was
smoking and painting, his eyes danc
ing.
“Old man.” he cried, “I’ve found her.
I’ve discovered the poster girl at last.”
Jack Mayne went on painting and
shrugging his shoulders.
“You’ve said that before,” he said
calmly. “Remember the little Irish
girl? Yo^j said she’d do. Her hair
was red.”
But the next day when he saw
Moira Gerraghty he was quite as en
thusiastic as his friend and as eager
to discover whether or not she would
consent to sit to him for a picture he
wished to paint. Hef* soft aecent, us
she answered him, told him of her na
tionality, and he asked at once if she
were Irish.
His Visit.
“My father was Irish,” she an
swered. "My mother is English. She
is an invalid, and I am her only child,
so I do not like to be away from her
a moment longer than I need. But 11
you will come around and see her,”
she added quickly, seeing the look of
disappointment on his face, “we can
see what she says about the sittings.
You see,” she said with a smile, “I am
only free on Sundays and every alter
nate Saturday afternoon; but if you
will come round and see what mother
says, we might be able to arrange
something.”
The following Sunday he went
round at her invitation, and found, ; s
he expected, that the mother was •*
lady, a gentle-faced woman whose
white hair showed signs of having
once been like her daughter's.
Then began a series of very pleas
ant Sunday afternoons, for Moira had
confessed to him that she could not
give up the mornings, this being the
only time in the week she had to de- ,
vote to her mother; and each after
noon Jack Mayne would join the rest
of the little coteries who had tea in
the Bond street tea shop, and who
now sought the particular corner over
which Moira presided.
Bit by bit .Tack Mayne learned som-'
thing of their paMt iife. Mrs. Ger
raghty spoke but little of her own
people, but he gathered that she had
been well born, and that‘her parents
had never forgiven the match with
the penniless author who had fallen
in love with her face, and since her
marriage she had had no communica
tion whatever with her own kin.
It was when the picture was al
most finished that Jack Mayne spoke
of showing it, and wondered to see
the sudden look of fear which leaped
into Mrs. Gerraghty’s eyes.
“Must you put it on exhibition?”
she a-iked. “Must it be shown.”
The Ring.
He explained to her how much de
pended upon exhibitions, and Moira
sat with quiet face listening; but after
that Mrs. Gerraghty said nothing.
Only when Moira had gone from the
room to prepare tea. she turned with
a slightly flushed face to the young
man.
•’You are obliged to sell your pic
tures. is it not so?” she asked, and
he added:
“How much do you expect to get
for—for Meira’si.portrait?” she asked.
He named a sum. and she was si
lent for a moment or two; then, look.
ins direct at the young man -silt*
asked him if he would do her a.favor.
“Certainly. If it is anything I can
do, I am yourg to command,” he as
sured her. And she gave him a tiny
key. which she drew from a box on
the table at her side.
“Do you mind going to that cab
inet?” she said, pointing to a .-111011
oak cabinet which he had always ad
mired, and which stood in one corner
of the room. “This key will unlock
the upper drawer, and if you look in
side you will find a tiny sandalwood
box. Please bring it to me.”
He obeyed her directions, and
brought the box. a tiny trifle, which
seemed reminiscent of the East. She
opened it and took -mt a curious
ring, which she laid in his palm. It
was fashioned of old silver, but held
a great ruby gleaming like a drop of
blood, and he exclaimed with pleasure
at the beautiful thing.
The Two Rubies.
“Yes, it is very beautiful,” she
agreed, “but its value is of the most
importance now. I do not wish Moira
to know of this; but do you think you
could dispose of the ring for me? I
am in need of money, and I believe
it will fetch a good deal.”
It was not till a week later that
Jack Mayne could spare the time to
dispose of the ring, and in the mean
time he had been very busy indeed,
as the exhibition at which he intended
to show several of his pictures was to
be held a week earlier than first in
tended. so that he was forced to make
.• ments at once. The picture of
Moira, which was far and away his
best piece of work, stood in his studio
complete, but he hesitated a little
over sending it, since he felt sure it
was this fact that had forced Mrs.
Gerraghty to confide in him. though
as he stood and looked at it he
thrilled with pride, knowing it to be
really good.
Taking up the ring, he went out
and made his way toward a curio
shop, th,» proprietor of which he knew
very well. He had once sold him a
set of carved ivory chessmen, and in
the course of talk had gleaned the
information that his invalid son was
an artist, so that gradually he had
struck up a kind of friendship. As he
entered the gloomy little shop he saw
that a tall, well-dressed, elderly gen-
vvas 1
one
all.
ex-
tleman was leaning over the counter
talking to Levisou, and waited his
turn, though the proprietor looked up
with a nod and a smile.
By and by the other customer turn
ed to examine some stones through a
magnifying glass, and Levison turned.
“What can I do for you to-day, Mr.
Mayne?” he asked, and, taking out
the little sandalwood box, Jack
showed him the ring. But he was not
prepared for the start of u i *ni: h-
ment the man gave, and the quick up
ward stare showed h m that some
thing uncommon was here.
“Where did you get this, Mr.
Mayne?” he asked in a 1 >v, voice
“This gentleman here”—and !io mo
tioned to the elderly man, ’
still looking at the stones—
precisely like it. May 1 show him?
Do you mind?”
Jack Mayne hesitated. After
the ring .was not his. ar.d he
plained this to the other.
“It’s a most remarkable thing.” said
the shopkeeper. “The stone is really
valuable, you see. It’s what is term d
a blood ruby.”
At his last words the other man
turned.
“What’s that about a blood ruby?”
he asked.
Plainly his interest lay in precious
stones. The shopkeeper was forced tp
explain, and again Jack Mayne was
astonished at the sudden start of the
other man. He gripped his arm and
bent down.
“Where did you get this, sir?” he
cried. “Answer me. 1 insist upon it.
Where did you get this?”
Jack Mayne was in a quandary, and
hesitated. But the other grew in
sistent. and at last he conceived the
idea of taking him back to his own
studio, where they could talk without
being overheard, the door opening
just then to admit a new customer.
“It is not mine,” he told him. “It
was given me by a friend to sell for
her.”
“Who was she? What is she like?”
lie demanded, and again Jack Mayne
hesitated.
How much or how little should he
tell? Then, as they entered the stu
dio, the old gentleman suddenly came
face to face with the portrait of
Moira and gave a cry of triumph.
“It is she!” he cried. “It is she!
is my daughter!”
ISCOURAGED” writes: '*1
am in love with a young man
whom I love dearly. He tells
me he loves me, and I always tell
him I don’t believe it, and sometimes
he acts indifferent to me. Will you
tell me how I can prove that he is
really in love with me, as I love him
dearly?”
What would you say to a girl who
loves, and is loved, and who meets
the messenger every girl longs for
with skepticism and doubt?
Wouldn’t you, remembering the
happiness that came to you through
a love you accepted, or the dreariness
of life where love was rejected, urge
her to have faith? I do.
This from a man: ”1 have been in
love with a girl of my age for some
Urne. I stopped keeping company
with her some time ago, and lost her
love. Now I want to win It back
again.”
Would you dare, remembering the
sweetheart your stubbornness lost
you, advi.-e him to hunt a new love?
1 wouldn’t.
I want him to go to her humbly and
sincerely and *tell her he has discov
ered that he didn't know his own
heart; that he knows it now, and
knows that so long as he lives it will
long for her and heat true for her, if
only she will forgive him and take
him back. Then I want him to act
like a man and be true to his word.
A girl writes: “I am in love with a
young man and he professes to love
me. We have been keeping company
since last October, but trust me he
will not. He always thinks I am with
other men when not with him. He
seems to think a great deal of me
when he is with me. When there are
other girls present he likes to tease
me by making a lot of them.”
Certainly Not.
Wonld you advise her to marry a
man who gives every proof of being a
jealous tyrant? I wouldn’t.
He reserves for himself the right to
flirt with other girls, enjoying him
self because it “teases” her, and ac
cuses her of spending every moment |
when not In his company with other
men. I want her to love and to mar
ry; it i- the only lasting happiness
there is in life; but I don’t want her
to marry a man who will make her
life miserable with his unjust suspi
cions and reproaches. There is peace
in spinsterhood; there would be noth
ing but war with such a man.
Bill writes: “I am a young man of
23 and in love with a girl of 18.
Every time I call on her her mother
says she is out. Do you think this
girl loves me?”
Would you, with dreamy eyes, build
up a romance: Loving girl, stern
parent, perhaps a dungeon in which
the girl is locked to keep her from
her lover. I wouldn’t.
If she loved him she would be “in”
some time when he calls. No mother
was ever clever enough to send a
young man away from the door time
after time without a chance to see
:he girl he loves unless she had the
girl’s consent. I am sorry for Bill,
but I nm quite sure the girl doesn’t
love him.
A very voung girl sends the fol
lowing: ”1 am in love with a young
man two and a half years my senior.
My parents say that 1 am too young
to keep company with him. 1 am
17. They tell me to wait two years.
What shall I do?”
Would you urge her to defy the
best friends she has in the world? I
wouldn’t. I want her to remember
that two years is a very short time
compared with the lifetime she will
give to this man if she marries him.
She owes that much, and more, to
the two who have eared for her all
her life and who stand ready to con
tinue that protection, if need be. till
the end of their days.
An easily discouraged soul writes:
“I am deeply infatuated with a girl
of my own age who is wealthy, and
I am not. She is also receiving the
attention of a young man who is also
wealthy. He has more time and money
to spend on her than I have, and she
says she can’t decide which one she
likes the more. What shall I do? I
do not want to waste her time and
mine. It would be very hard for me
to give her up.”
Would you, made skeptical perhaps
by some bitter experience, advise him
to get Qut of the race, telling him
that no man stands a show when his
empty banes are opposed to hands
that are filled with money? I would
not.
Love Independent.
I insist that love is independent of
wealth, and that he stands as good a
chance as his wealthy rival. The
other man’s wealth will never defeat
him. If he loses, it will be because of
his own faint heart, and his fear that
by continuing to make love to the
girl he will waste “her time and
mine.” I have no patience with such
a weak-willed person!
Bessie also has troubles. She writes:
“I have been keeping company with a
young man for nearly two years, and
I love him very much. He has never
come right out and asked me to marry
him. but some way or other, we have
just drifted into talking about it. and
we expect to be married in the fall.
Now, what I don’t understand is why
he has never said anything about an
engagement ring. He never goes
with other girls, or wants me to go
with other young men, nor do I care
to. He has given me some beautiful
presents, but never a ring.”
Would you urge her to grow* in
dignant. and demand it? I wouldn’t.
Happiness is not dependent on a
band for the girl’s finger. If it had
bgen there would have been little
happiness in the world some years
ago. when engagement rings were
unknown, and many a happy brid
was married with a key as the mar
riage symbol.
There arp some men who never
THINK. This man didn't think to
propose. He Just drifted into the en
gagement. and in the same happy
way will drift to the altar. I am
sure the thought of a ring has not
entered his head. I am also sure
that if Bessie goes about it right, by
suggesting instead of by knocking,
he will visit the. Jeweler before he
calls again.
Don’t you think that would be
wiser than to frighten Love away with
angry reproaches? I do.
A
<Z£>
A Word About Personal Appearance
By MRS. FRANK LEARNED.
Author of “Etiquette In New York To
day.”
T HE essentials which characterize a
well-dressed woman are that she
dresses In proportion to her
means, in accordance with her position
and age. She wears what is appropriate
to the occasion, does not dress con
spicuously and does not adopt exagger
ated novelties of fasjiion. The well-bred
woman avoids showiness, over-trim
ming. and refuses to wear anything
that is suggestive of a lack of modesty.
Personal appearance and dress are very
sure indications of character. The
woman or girl who dresses merely to
gratify vanity, pride, love of display,
shows what are her characteristics and
aims.
A woman who may be able to afford
costly materials and jewels does not
wear them in the morning or when trav
eling.
In this age of extravagance there is
danger of being covetous about clothes.
The commandment, “Thou shalt not
covet,” needs to be brought in mind
frequently. To, buy things which can
not be afforded, to go in debt for clothes,
or to owe money in other directions
while spending lavishly for dress, is
not acting on right principles. Self-re
spect requires that we shall be always
neatly dressed, never over-dressed, and
conscience requires that we spend con
scientiously.
Nothing m worse than for a woman to
have the appearance of carrying all of
her worldly possessions on her hack,
spending everything she has and more
than she can afford. No one respects
li#
There is a happy medium between
foolish extravagance and excessive econ
omy in dress. Economizing should not
mean saving in necessary and neat
clothes. Exquisite neatness and dainti
ness is everyone’s duty. A well-bred
woman is as careful to have her under
garments as fresh and neat as her
gowns or hats.
For business hours a quiet, simple
dress of good, durable material is de
sirable. A business girl who wears a
neat, plain dress, a hat simply trimmed,
well fitting, neat gloves and shoes, com
mands respect. If a girl’s dress is
“loud.” her hat overladen with cheap
trimmings, she proclaims herself as in
experienced in the ways of the w'orld
and not having mental qualities of a
high order. Exaggerated and conspicu
ous affectations in hairdressing had
best be avoided.
In social, professional or business life
women who have the best instincts un
derstand the importance of following
what m^v be the fashion, but never
going to extremes,
ions to their requirements and omit
what Is eccentric.
The best dressed girls do not wear
Jewelry. Cheap, imitation Jewels are
in poor taste. An important thing is
to avoid the use of scents. It is in
excusable to have any redolence upon
the person from sachets, essences or
strong perfumery. The faintest whiff
of a delicate perfume is all that may be
allowable A clean, pure skin, kept
clean by daily bathing and the constant
use of soap and water, Is an evidence
< f a woman of refinement and does not
need the addition of a scent.
A Bunch of Grapes
By CHARLES GENLAUX.
A T KAIRONAU I was a constant
visitor at an Arabian cafe.
I \\£nt there every day to
drink the excellent mocha a la ver-
viene, which my native friend Chadll
Djoir.mal made for me.
Ordinarily this man, who wan
dressed in n r oat of mauve silk and
who resembled a fighting cock with
hia long thin neck and aquiline none,
wore the gloomiest of expressions, but
one day he was so merry and gay
that I could not help asking him the
reason.
“Chadll,” T anked. "why are you so
ojit'py to-day?”
“I will tell you, if you will swear
not to tell anybody.”
I promised,
“You know,” Chadll began, “that the
Koran permits a man to have four
wives. So I had .four—Aicha, Zorah,
Emina and Fathma. They were my
servants, for I am a poor Mussulman.
They also wove rugs, which I sold to
get piastres and douros to buy food
and clothes for them. Every night,
turning mv face toward the east in
prayer. I thought: ‘O Allah, am I not
always a Just man?’
“Still my four wives accused me of
being unjust. I tried to treat them all
alike in every way. but mill they ac
cused me of being partial. I never
bought a bottle of scent for Aicha if
the dealer could not give me three
other bottles Just like it. I measured
their food and weighed my every
word. Fool that I was! I even meas
ured the breadth of my smiles that
Zorah might not grow' jealous of Em-
ina and that Fathma might not have
reason to scream, ‘He smiles oftener
to Aicha!’
“When one of them had neglected
her work, rather than scold her alone
I scolded all four, that none of them
might think herself favored. And
when Emina had finished a beautiful
ly colored rug first I praised her lazy
companions just as much.
“In spite of all these precautions I
lived in constant misery.
“Now. last week I bought a bunch
of grapes, but I had hardly done so
when I began to feel uneasy. Alas,
w here was I to get four bunches Just
alike? Suddenly, by Mahomet, I had
an inspiration and breathed easier
When I come home I showed them
the beautiful bunch. They m&de a
runh for me, each wanting to grab !t.
“ ‘Stop,’ I cried, ‘Take one grape—
only one at a time.’
“I held up the bunch and began
‘You take one grape, Aicha.’
“She took one.
“ ‘Fat it.’ I commanded.
“She swallowed it.
“ ‘Now, you take one, Zorah. Eat
They adapt fash it.’ I sM and then, ’Come here,
Emina. onlv one grape, dear! Eat it.
And you, Fathma, one grape, and no
more. Eat it, my soul.’
“In this way I went on, calling
them by name one at a time and as
quickly as I could, for they were as
quick as birds? At last there was
only the stem left for my own des
sert, but I was satisfied. I thought
I had successfully solved the most
difficult problem of my married life,
but, alas! I had not counted on wom
an’s innate malice.
“In the evening, when I had
closed the cafe and was at home wflth
my four wives, Fathma took hold of
my sleeve, drew me aside and hissed.
‘Why did you turn the green grapes
toward me to-day? I shall never for
give you this mean trick.'
“I was about to protest when
somebody pulled the tail of my coat,
and Zorah dragged me toward the
kitchen, stared at me with her big
cat-like eyes and scolded, ‘Chadi,
what did you mean turning that side
of the bunch toward me, where the
only three moldy grapes were? You
wanted to insult me. you rascal.’
“I began to explain, when Aicha’s
sharp voice called to me to come out
6n the terrace, i ran out to her. hap
py to get away from Zorah, who be
gan to get very abusive.
“My joy did not last long, for my
third wdfe began to show her teeth,
which are very white and sharp.
“ ‘You monster,’ she hissed, ‘don’t
tell me you did not know the birds
had' pecked at some of the grapes
on the side of the bunch you turned
toward me. You won’t dare deny it,
you mane of a horse.’
“I tried in vain to defend myself.
“‘Come down horr. Ch&dl,’ now
cried Emina, the liveliest of my
wives, and in order not to offend her
by listening to Aicha’s scolding and
al*o because I was afraid of her
teeth. I rushed downstairs so quickly
that I hurt my ankle, so that I had
to limp and clinch my teeth together
with pain.
“ ‘Oh, you need not think you can
soften my heart by limping,’ she
screamed, waving her arms agitat
edly. ’I won’t look at you until
you ask my pardon, you jackal.'
“ |Beg your pardon!' I cried; T do
not understand. What have I done to
you, Emina?’
“ ‘The grapes on my side of the
bunch were much smaller than the
others,’ she whined.
“This was too much for me. I got
angry, ran into my room and came
back with a bamboo stick with
which I began to beat her merci
lessly.
“‘Oh, the coward!’ screamed Fath
ma, Zorah and Aicha, in chorus. ‘He
beats only Emina and he dares not
touch us.’
“ ’I will show what I dare,' I cried,
and now 1 beat them all, one after
the other, until rny arms ached and
the stick broke in my hand. Then I
slammed the door and went out.
“The next day I divorced them all.
Therefore, I am happy.”
From a Novel.
“If I were not in a canoe, I would
kiss you.”
“Take me ashore instantly, sir.”
This bathing costume is simple yet. graceful and commends it
self to the young woman who would appear neat but not con
spicuous on the beach. It is a one-piece affair, made of dark blue
cloth with the waist trimmed to suit the taste of the wearer.
Nobody Hurt.
Reporter—Anybody Injured in the
practice game to-day?
Football Captain—No; the boys
took It easy to-day. They are saving
themselves for the cup tie to-morrow.
Robinson got his nose broken, Smith
lost an ear, Robson got a few' teeth
knocked out, Jacock dislocated his
Jaw and broke a few fingers, but no
body got what you could really call
hurt.
Opaque Taste.
A sad-looklng man went into a drug
store.
“Can you give me.” he asked, “some
thing that will drive from my mind the
thought of sorrow and bitter recollec
tions?”
Then the chemist nodded, and put
him up a little dose of quinine and asa-
foetida and wormwood and Epsom salts
and a da. h of castor oil, and gave it to
him, and for six months the man could
not think of anything in the world ex
cept new schemes for getting the taste
out -of his mouth.
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