She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. My heart misgives me. Very well, I give up. “It was fine and brave of you.
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