“Much the same,” he said. “I am too picky, too demanding of certain traits which I have never found in a female.” “And what traits might those be, Mr. Breitsprecher?” “Why, grace, handsomeness, intelligence, the ability to tell red wine from white, a fondness for robins—and, rarest of all, the ability to scale logs.” She burst into a fit of laughter and he started as well; they stood whooping in the gloom until a shocked owl swooped soundlessly over their heads. “Lavinia,” he said when he could speak. “Shall we marry?” “I think that is a very good question,” she said. “I think we had better
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