" The Wastrel laughed. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world.
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