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. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. Men ought not to idealize any woman. The boy was coming around. “But how can you?” asked Constance. She says to be home by one AM. Montressor’s guests were. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. They had completed a circuit of the mansion before Roding’s frustration burst out. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be.
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