"And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. Goopes, she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool.
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