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: [reciting a poem she has written
] Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate/Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May/And summer's lease hath all... Garth
] You wrote that? Marta
: Yesterday, as a matter of fact. Garth
: It was written by an Earthman named Shakespeare a long time ago! Marta
: Which does NOT alter the fact that I wrote it again yesterday!
: Why can't I blow off just one of his ears? Garth
: Stop that, Marta. Mr. Spock will think you're lacking in hospitality.
: I may have you beaten to death. Marta
: No, you won't, because I am the most beautiful woman on this planet. Garth
: You're the only woman on this planet, you stupid cow!
] In the midnight of November, when the dead man's fair is nigh and a danger in the valley and the anger in the sky.