Lives by his wits and gambling. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Just a formal marriage. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men.
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