There are three constants to be expected when walking on a brisk Corsican afternoon: a warm breeze at your tail, an impassioned support (or contentious rebuttal) of the radical new chestnut-tree tax, and an unprovoked invitation to wed a charming if not slightly bemused local girl
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This is such a load of yakkow shit.
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No.
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[Maybe she's the type Zeke would like?]
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[She doesn't plan on it either.]
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Thank you for your patronage!
[I have a feeling that it won't end that easily, Samuel.]
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[The sheer stupidity of this conversation is maddening.]
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Not if you're the protagonist, I'm afraid. If you are, then we're in a pulp-stock 'who-shot-the-vicar' novella at best.
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Johnsonberg! Book her. And someone get me a cigarette.
...In all honesty you do make for fairly thrilling narrative.
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[Really. Ashe is done trying.]
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