Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. 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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