Oh, John. . Rats and things crawling all over. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. 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. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. . These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace.
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