The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. . Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight.
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