“Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. ‘Do not be foolish. B. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. 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. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her.
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