“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. "But clear the room of this rabble, if you have sufficient authority over them. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. \" \"Not this Saturday, sweetie. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. "I rather fancy, as you Britishers say, that you know the nature of my visit?" "I'm an American.
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