” “And you can’t?” “I don’t think I ought to control myself. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one.
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