Anna was singing as she used to sing. Her heartbeat quickened. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. 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. She struggled not to be afraid. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. ’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits.
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