’ She set down her glass with a snap. ” “I’m a married man. "It is your son. " "I can't endure the odious baggage. 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 leaves me almost without comparisons. But a woman’s life is all chance. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. “Odd!” she said. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement.
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