Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. ’ ‘Parbleu,’ exclaimed the girl, jumping up in some dudgeon. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. “But your hair,” he gasped. But it's so wonderful to watch you! Whenever you have written something beautiful, your face shows it. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. \" He looked crestfallen.
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