She would chide him and call him "rogue," and "impertinent," and he
would say something like, "I'll put a stop to this abuse," and then
their lips, who were old friends by now, would once again meet for
fellowship. Of course, Lucinda would struggle just enough to
enhance the enjoyment, until laughter or an unexpected visitor broke
their embrace.
Well, enough mush. The point is that an unspoken understanding had
developed between them so that only a few months after the rest of
the kingdom knew it, they realized that they would one day wed and
together laugh and cry through the years until death should wake them.
But to return to the weightier problem of King Cleon. Upon being
asked for his advice, Sir Philo recommended that the king choose from
among the following options. One, his majesty could choose the wisest
and most just suitor for Jennifrella, for such a man would not only
make a good king, but he would most likely be a decent husband, too.
Or secondly, the king might seek a foreign alliance and marry his
daughter to another king's son. This was an alternative which Sir
Philo did not recommend, but mentioned only for the sake of
completeness. And finally, the last possibility would be to let
Jennifrella choose for herself--in which case, everyone knew that
Sir Fassade would be the next king, and he, opined Sir Philo, would
be "acceptable," producing a government no worse than the current
one. (Since I have already described the king's advisor as
"thoughtful," I shall now add "tactful" and note that the final
participial phrase of the previous sentence was thought but not
uttered by the knight.) As for the kind of husband Sir Fassade would
make, the princess would have no one to blame but herself.
King Cleon thought the matter over not quite long enough and decided
to hold an archery contest, the winner of which would marry his
daughter. The degree of Sir Philo's consternation is not recorded
in the annals from which I am plagiarizing, but one may suppose that
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