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 the trouble with me. I simply do not rhyme.—That is all!"

"Will you marry me?" persisted the Political Economist.

Noreen shook her head. "No!" she repeated. "You don't seem to understand. Marriage is not for me. I tell you that I am Blank Verse. I am Talent, and I do not rhyme with Love. I am Talent and I do not rhyme with Man. There is no place in my life for you. You can not come into my verse and rhyme with me!"

"Are n't you a little bit exclusive?" goaded the Political Economist.

Noreen nodded gravely. "Yes," she said, "I am brutally exclusive. But everybody is n't. Life is so easy for some women. Now, the Much-Loved Girl is nothing in the world except 'Miss.' She rhymes inevitably with almost anybody's kiss.—I am not just Miss. The Much-Loved Girl is nothing in the world except 'Girl.' She rhymes inevitably with 'Curl.' I am not just Girl. She is 'Coy' and rhymes with 'Boy.' She is 'Simple' and rhymes with 'Dimple.' I am none of those things! I have n't the Lure of the Sonnet. I have n't the Charm of the Lyric. I have n't the Bait of the Limerick. At the very best I am 'Brain' and rhyme with 'Pain.' And I wish I was dead!"