“There’s twenty before you, and Mr. 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. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. It is a matter of degree. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois.
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