” “It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz. ‘Well said, my dear. ’ ‘What?’ ‘Neat little toy. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. ‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. 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. .
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