Empty, silly, coarse brutes. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life.
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