Could you just let me in? I have a surprise for him. “I have not the least idea who he is. It’s John. ” He said. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. But I believe that Mr. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. 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.
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