She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. “Hey, John. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. "No more, please! I am bewildered enough.
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