I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. “Yeah, everybody knows him Mom. A skeleton was propped against the mantelpiece. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. She was given a glimpse of his soul. ” He said. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years.
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