" "Mr. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. “You have not feeling enough. ” “Annabel is a prophetess,” he declared. ” “I can spare it,” Anna answered suavely. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. ” He said. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne.
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