“Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. ” “You didn’t. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. " "My boots! Fire and fury! They won't fit you; they are too large. ’ ‘No, of course you could not,’ Gerald soothed. “I think you are getting to understand me better. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar.
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