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Chapter 37 by The Doctor The Doctor

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A gentleman never calls a plain woman ugly.

If one cannot find a nice word about someone, it is better to not say anything.

It is truly a shame that your sister, formerly brother, apparently frequented less gentlemen than boors. A widely held belief plaisirs that redheaded women are either the most beautiful or the plainest women to be met. Some would be works of wonder to be gazed upon, and like the Gulf of Naples, one could then die, their life truly accomplished. Others, like a small reminder of the horrors waiting in the dark for the living, are too terrible a sight to behold.

O, Gods, that one should live a thousand years, no plainer woman could be met than she, your sister. Memento mori et carpe diem, for life is short and fate is blind!

But it is not true here, now, is it? Fate isn’t dealing this low blow to your brother… You are. Are you truly willing to condemn him to the horror of being one of the ugliest women alive?

Does the Voice, with her weird phrasing and antiquated expressions, have a point?

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