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. ” “She is one of them,” Ennison said. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. " "That's the way it goes.
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