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” Anna moved softly to the window, and threw up the sash. 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. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. " "Won't one from me do as well?" interposed Mrs. . The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. Mr.
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