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We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. There's the paragraph. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired.

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