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The two sisters were, at this time, in all the freshness
For Arthur, a beautiful woman,
♪ Beneath the weeping willow ♪
…who, having run afoul of so many of the dead,
To murder, or be murdered by.
And she would walk.
remained, some would whisper, by stubbornness alone.
And fade, and fade.
She has you there, Perdi.
sell the manor and find a quieter life, a smaller one,
her marriage may have some amount of love to it, after all.
As I said before, thrice.
The word began in her chest, as the sickness did for Viola.
should await the commands of a little girl,
Those souls held in her orbit,
Several devoted swains, and some two or three
all passed through her cunning hands,
Those were the rosy times,
The money failing as time went on,
A whisper in her ear, in her mind entire.
Arthur bore his bereavement soberly and manfully.
and I will take you to myself,
For in Perdita's eyes, he felt an echo of Viola's.
Because it wasn't mercy on her mind, or her heart,
The eldest of Willoughby's daughters, once Lady Lloyd of Bly,
now just a thought, just a feeling,
What will she be left with? What memories of you will she carry?
hoping to find a child,
You will. God help you, but you will.
For both maidens, neither a male,
Did you not run our estate into the damned ground?
Their father in the ground, they faced a dire necessity for marriage.
Yes, I think you are almost ready.
in sickness and in health,
What did you say?
She had long since ascertained
a searing ache that she hoped would be quenched by the…
Oh, we do not.
so, too, her face.
- It is your soul I worry for. - No.
Waking.
and Perdita was, perforce, less of a great lady
It is us.
as her sister's strategic union was blessed.
compelled a material retrenchment in his expenditure,
I can dance with my own husband.
The story was true, but it was also theater.
and a fine outcome for Perdita,