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. ” She took his hand and smiled upon him. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. E. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us.
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