“My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. You MUST not, you SHALL not go. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. Shortly a man descended laboriously. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend.
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