He built her the most beautiful castle 242 in the world in the desert, carving fountains where real water ran and gardens in a place where no plant had ever bloomed. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening.
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