“You shall go,” he declared. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. 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.
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