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. But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. Footman or some such. "To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper.
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