’ A hand seemed to grip in Melusine’s chest and she hit out. “Yes. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. 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. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him.
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