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Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. It was impossible. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. If Mr. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. " "It matters not, Norris," replied Lady Trafford: "I would rather die on the road, than be exposed to another such scene as I have just encountered. “You are one of those who must know all about it. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. ” There was a moment’s silence.
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