The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. "Well, Sir," said Kneebone, when the other concluded, "I shall certainly not oppose his capture, but, at the same time, I'll lend you no assistance. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. His eyes closed.
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