We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. " "You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone. ‘I assure you it was mutual. Annabel thought, and thought again. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things.
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