She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters.
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