He stopped abruptly. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. 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 would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived.
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