They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. . Come, make yourself scarce. “You may not leave. But she did not in the least want to do that. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. You know that. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood.
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