No Man Of Any Intelligence Would Pretend

He Ought To Buy Her A New Dress. She Would Never Accept It, Of Course, But Maybe If Her Current Garments Were Accidentally Burned... ...but How Could He Manage To Burn Her Dress? She'd Have To Not Be Wearing It, And That Posed A Certain Challenge In And Of Itself.

It Was The One Dream He'd Never Permitted Himself To Consider.

You Are Always Looking At People Like This.” And Then She Made A Face, One He Couldn’t Possibly Begin To Describe. “if I Ever Look Like That,” He Said Dryly, “precisely Like That, To Be More Precise, I Give You Leave To Shoot Me.

But Looking Beautiful Isn't, I Think, As Important As Feeling Beautiful.

Tell Me Something Wicked.