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“For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. White, I am not sure that I could afford to come to you. Go on and tell me. 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. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. “Certainly. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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