Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. It was better even than the hymn-singing. 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. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go.
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