“Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. He brightened as she took off her hood. Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity.
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