‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. Satisfied, however, that she did not notice him, Jonathan glided away as noiselessly as he came, and ascended another short flight of stairs leading to the garret. Of you—an angel with one wing. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. 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.
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