I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. It could not be she who had done this. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. “Your mother was a Gypsy. He was like a man beside himself. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad.
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