Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered. Ramage, by a hundred skilful hints had led her to realize that the problem of her own life was inseparably associated with, and indeed only one special case of, the problems of any woman’s life, and that the problem of a woman’s life is love. He became angry. So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face. “An Oracle is a vampire, of course. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. They embarked upon an open and declared friendship. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him. To remove this obstacle it was necessary make an extensive breach in the wall.
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