The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. ‘Exactement. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth.
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