” “Shirts?” “Shirts at one—and—something a dozen. And what on earth do you want to darken your eyebrows and use so much make-up for at your age? You’re exactly twenty-three, and you’re got up as much as a woman of forty-five. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. ‘But you are idiot. I'll tell you what. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. Take it, I tell you. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. Come home alone.
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