Saw the villain through the keyhole. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. 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. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. I had already won wars and sailed ships to distant lands by the time I was thirty. And Mother trusted him.
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