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. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. She removed the belt and drew down his zipper. If she was in a position to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way round. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. She had remained patently unavailable to him.
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