Mr. " "For you!" exclaimed Jonathan; "don't flatter yourself that I'm thinking of you. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. 1. There was hope for me then. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought.
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